^  |QytfRC)OUL£CTlON 


WORK: 


A    STORY   OF   EXPERIENCE. 


BY 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT, 

AUTHOR    OF    "little   WOMEN,"    "LITTLE    MEN,"     "  AN    OLD-FASHIONED 
GIRL,"    "hospital    SKETCHES,"   ETC. 


An  endless  significance  lies  in  work  ;  in  idleness  alone  is  there  perpetual 
despair."  —  Carlyle. 


BOSTON: 
ROBERTS      BROTHERS. 

1S73. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1873,  by 

LOUISA    M.    ALCOTT, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Wasliington. 


CAMBRIDGE: 
PRESS   OF   JOHN    WILSON    AND   SON. 


TO 


MY    MOTHER, 

WHOSE    LIFE    HAS    BEEN    A    LONG    LABOR    OF    LOVE, 
THIS   BOOK   IS   GRATEFULLY  INSCRIBED 

BY 

HER  DAUGHTER. 


602679 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTEE  PAGE 

I.     Christie 1 

II.     Servant 14 

III.     Actress 34 

rV.     Governess 56 

V.     Companion 92 

VI.     Seamstress 127 

Vn.     Through  the  Mist 146 

VIII.     A  Cure  for  Despair 170 

IX.     Mrs.    Wilkins's   Minister 197 

X.     Beginning  Again -.     .     .     .  219 

XI.     In  the  Strawberry  Bed 244 

Xn.     Christie's  Gala 257 

XIII.  Waking  Up 284 

XIV.  Which? 309 

XV.     Midsummer 335 

XVI.     Mustered  In 355 

XVII.     The  Colonel 384 

XVIII.     Sunrise 398 

XIX.     Little  Heart's-ease 408 

XX.     At  Forty 424 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS, 

FROM  DRAWINGS   BY  SOL    EYTTXGE. 


PAGB 

*'  How  doth  the  Uttle  busy  bee  " Vignette. 

Christie 1 

Aunt  Betsey's  Interlarded  Speech 4 

Mrs.  Stuart 18 

Ilepsey 28 

Christie  as  Queen  of  the  Amazons 42 

Mr.  Philip  Fletcher 56 

Mrs.  Saltonstall  and  Family .•  63 

"No,  I  thank  you" 86 

Helen  Carrol 96 

Mrs.  King  and  Miss  Cotton 134 

The  Rescue 159 

«C.  Wilkins,  Clear  Starcher" 165 

LishaWilkins 170 

Mrs.  Wilkins'  "  Six  Lively  Infants  " 179 

Mr.  Power 197 

Mrs.  Sterling 219 

David  and  Christie  in  the  Greenhouse 232 

Mr.  Power  and  Christie  in  the  Strawberry  Bed 250 

A  Friendly  Chat 264 

Kitty 284 

"  One  Happy  Moment  " 305 

David 309 

"  Then  they  were  married  " 379. 

"  Don't  mourn,  dear  heart,  but  WORK  " 406 

"  She  's  a  good  little  gal ;  looks  consid'able  like  you  "...  419 
"  Each  ready  to  do  her  part  to  hasten  the  coming  of  the 

happy  end  " 443 


WORK : 

A    STORY    OF    EXPERIENCE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

CHKISTIE. 


Christie. 

AUXT  BETSEY,  there's  going  to  be  a  new  Dec- 
laration of  Independence." 
"  Bless  and  save  us,  what  do  you  mean,  child  ?  "   And 
the  startled  old  lady  precipitated  a  pie  into  the  oven 
with  destructive  haste. 

"  I  mean  that,  being  of  age,  I  'm  going  to  take  care 

1  A 


25  WOBK. 

of  myself,  and  not  be  a  burden  any  longer.  Uncle 
wishes  me  out  of  the  way ;  thinks  I  ought  to  go,  and, 
sooner  or  later,  will  tell  me  so.  I  don't  intend  to  wait 
for  that,  but,  like  the  people  in  fairy  tales,  travel  away 
into  the  world  and  seek  my  fortune.  I  know  I  can 
find  it." 

Christie  emphasized  her  speech  by  energetic  demon- 
strations in  the  bread-trough,  kneading  the  dough  as  if 
it  was  her  destiny,  and  she  was  shaping  it  to  suit  her- 
self; while  Aunt  Betsey  stood  listening,  with  uplifted 
pie-fork,  and  as  much  astonishment  as  her  placid  fice 
was  capable  of  expressing.  As  the  girl  paused,  with  a 
decided  thump,  the  old  lady  exclaimed  : 

"  AVhat  crazy  idee  you  got  into  your  head  now  ?  " 

"  A  very  sane  and  sensible  one  that 's  got  to  be  work- 
ing out,  so  please  listen  to  it,  ma'am.  I've  had  it  a 
good  while,  I  've  thought  it  over  thoroughly,  and  I  'm 
sure  it 's  the  right  thing  for  me  to  do.  I  'm  old  enough 
to  take  care  of  myself;  and  if  I'd  been  a  boy,  I  should 
have  been  told  to  do  it  long  ago.  I  hate  J:o  be  depend- 
ent ;  and  now  there 's  no  need  of  it,  I  can't  bear  it  any 
longer.  If  you  were  poor,  I  wouldn't  leave  you  ;  for  I 
never  forget  how  kind  you  have  been  to  me.  But 
Uncle  doesn't  love  or  understand  me ;  I  am  a  burden  to 
him,  and  I  must  go  where  I  can  take  care  of  myself.  I 
can't  be  happy  till  I  do,  for  there 's  nothing  here  for  me. 
I  'm  sick  of  this  dull  town,  where  the  one  idea  is  eat, 
drink,  and  get  rich  ;  I  don't  find  any  friends  to  help  me 
as  I  want  to  be  helped,  or  any  work  that  I  can  do  well ; 
so  let  me  go.  Aunty,  and  find  my  place,  wherever  it  is." 

"But  I  do  need  you,  deary ;  and  you  mustn't  think 
Uncle  don't  like  you.     He  does,  only  he  don't  show  it ; 


CHRISTIE.  3 

and  when  your  odd  ways  fret  him,  he  ain't  pleasant,  I 
know.  I  don't  see  why  you  can't  be  contented  ;  I  've 
lived  here  all  ray  days,  and  never  found  the  place  lone- 
some, or  the  folks  unneighborly."  And  Aunt  Betsey 
looked  perplexed  by  the  new  idea. 

"  You  and  I  are  very  different,  ma'am.  There  was 
more  yeast  put  into  my  composition,  I  guess  ;  and,  after 
standing  quiet  in  a  warm  corner  so  long,  I  begin  to  fer- 
ment, and  ought  to  be  kneaded  up  in  time,  so  that  I 
may  turn  out  a  wholesome  loaf.  You  can't  do  this ;  so 
let  me  go  where  it  can  be  done,  else  I  shall  turn  sour 
and  good  for  nothing.  Does  that  make  the  matter  any 
clearer?"  And  Christie's  serious  face  relaxed  into  a 
smile  as  her  aunt's  eye  went  from  her  to  the  nicely 
moulded  loaf  offered  as  an  illustration. 

"  I  see  what  you  mean,  Kitty ;  but  I  never  thought 
on 't  before.  You  be  better  riz  than  me ;  though,  let 
me  tell  you,  too  much  emptins  makes  bread  poor  stuff, 
like  baker's  trash ;  and  too  much  workin'  up  makes  it 
hard  and  dry.  Now  fly  'round,  for  the  big  oven  is 
most  het,  and  this  cake  takes  a  sight  of  time  in  the 
mixin'." 

«  You  haven't  said  I  might  go.  Aunty,"  began  the  girl, 
after  a  long  pause  devoted  by  the  old  lady  to  the  prep- 
aration of  some  compound  which  seemed  to  require 
great  nicety  of  measurement  in  its  ingredients;  for 
when  she  replied,  Aunt  Betsey  curiously  interlarded 
her  speech  with  audible  directions  to  herself  from  the 
receipt-book  before  her. 

«  I  ain't  no  right  to  keep  you,  dear,  ef  you  choose  to 
take  (a  pinch  of  salt).  I'm  sorry  you  ain't  happy,  and 
think  you  might  be  ef  you'd  only  (beat  eggs'  six  yolks  and 


WORK. 


Aunt  Betsey's  interlarded  Speech. 

whites  together).  But  ef  you  can't,  and  feel  that  you 
need  (two  cups  of  sugar),  only  speak  to  Uncle,  and  ef 
he  says  (a  squeeze  of  fresh  lemon),  go,  my  dear,  and 
take  my  blessin'  with  you  (not  forgettin'  to  cover  with 
a  piece  of  paper)." 

Christie's  laugh  echoed  through  the  kitchen  ;  and  the 
old  lady  smiled  benignly,  quite  unconscious  of  the 
cause  of  the  girl's  merriment. 

"  I  shall  ask  Uncle  to-night,  and  I  know  he  won't 
object.  Then  I  shall  write  to  see  if  Mrs.  Flint  has  a 
room  for  me,  where  I  can  stay  till  I  get  something  to 


CHRISTIE,  5 

do;  There  is  plenty  of  work  in  the  world,  and  I  'm  not 
afraid  of  it ;  so  you  '11  soon  hear  good  news  of  nie. 
Don't  look  sad,  for  you  know  I  never  could  forget  you^ 
even  if  I  should  become  the  greatest  lady  in  the  land." 
And  Christie  left  tlie  prints  of  two  floury  but  affection- 
ate hands  on  the  old  lady's  shouldeVs,  as  she  kissed  the 
wrinkled  face  that  had  never  worn  a  frown  to  her. 

Full  of  hopeful  fancies,  Christie  salted  the  pans  and 
buttered  the  dough  in  pleasant  forgetfulness  of  all  mun- 
dane affairs,  and  the  ludicrous  dismay  of  Aunt  Betsey, 
who  followed  her  about  rectifying  her  mistakes,  and 
watching  over  her  as  if  this  sudden  absence  of  mind 
had  roused  suspicions  of  her  sanity. 

"  Uncle,  I  want  to  go  away,  and  get  my  own  living, 
if  you  please,"  .was  Christie's  abrupt  beginning,  as  they 
sat  round  the  evening  fire. 

"  Hey !  what 's  that  ?  "  said  TJncle  Enos,  rousing  from 
the  doze  he  was  enjoying;  with  a  candle  in  perilous 
proximity  to  his  newspaper  and  his  nose. 

Christie  repeated  her  request,  and  was  much  relieved, 
when,  after  a  meditative  stare,  the  old  man  briefly 
answered : 

"  Wal,  go  ahead." 

"  I  was  afraid  you  might  think  it  rash  or  silly,  sir." 

"  I  think  it 's  the  best  thing  you  could  do  ;  and  I  like 
your  good  sense  in  pupposin'  on't." 

"Then  I  may  really  go  ?  " 

"  Soon 's  ever  you  like.  Don't  pester  me  about  it  till 
you're  ready  ;  then  I  '11  give  you  a  little  suthing  to  start 
off  with."  And  Uncle  Enos  returned  to  "  The  Farmer's 
Friend,"  as  if  cattle  were  more  interesting  than  kindred. 

Christie  was  accustomed  to  his  curt  speech  and  care- 


6  WOBK. 

less  manner ;  harl  expected  nothing  more  cordial ;  and, 
turning  to  her  aunt,  said,  rather  bitterly : 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  he  'd  be  glad  to  have  me  go  ?  No 
matter !  When  I  've  done  something  to  be  proud  of,  lie 
will  be  as  glad  to  see  me  back  again."  Then  her  voice 
changed,  her  eyes  kindled,  and  the  firm  lips  softened 
with  a  smile.  "  Yes,  I  '11  try  my  experiment ;  then  I  '11 
get  rich  ;  found  a  home  for  girls  like  myself;  or,  better 
still,  be  a  Mrs.  Fry,  a  Florence  Nightingale,  or  "  — 

"  How  are  you  on 't  for  stockin's,  dear  V  " 

Christie's  castles  in  the  air  vanished  at  the  pro- 
saic question ;  but,  after  a  blank  look,  she  answered  pleas- 
antly : 

"  Thank  you  for  bringing  me  down  to  my  feet  again, 
when  I  was  soaring  away  too  far  and  too  fast.  I  'm 
poorly  off,  ma'am ;  but  if  you  are  knitting  these  for  me, 
I  shall  certainly  start  on  a  firm  foundation."  And,  lean- 
ing on  Aunt  Betsey's  knee,  she  patiently  discussed  the 
AVardrobe  question  from  hose  to  head-gear. 

"  Don't  you  think  you  could  be  contented  any  way, 
Christie,  ef  I  make  the  work  lighter,  and  leave  you 
more  time  for  your  books  and  things  ?  "  asked  the  old 
lady,  loth  to  lose  the  one  youthful  element  in  her  quiet 
life. 

«  No,  ma'am,  for  I  canh  find  what  I  want  here,"  was 
the  decided  answer. 

"  What  do  you  want,  child  ?  " 

"  Look  in  the  fire,  and  I  '11  try  to  show  you." 

The  old  lady  obediently  turned  her  spectacles  that 
way  ;  and  Christie  said  in  a  tone  half  serious,  half  play- 
ful: 

"  Do  you  see  those  two  logs  ?     Well  that  one  smoul- 


CHRISTIE.  1 

dering  dismally  away  in  the  corner  is  what  my  life  is 
now ;  the  other  blazing  and  singing  is  what  I  want  my 
life  to  be." 

"  Bless  me,  what  an  idee  !  They  are  both  a-burnin' 
where  they  are  put,  and  both  will  be  ashes  to-morrow ; 
so  what  difference  doos  it  make  ?  " 

Christie  smiled  at  the  literal  old  lady ;  but,  following 
the  fancy  that  pleased  her,  she  added  earnestly  : 

"  I  know  tlie  end  is  the  same ;  but  it  does  make  a 
difference  h<nc  they  turn  to  ashes,  and  hoio  I  spend  my 
life.  That  log,  with  its  one  dull  spot  of  fire,  gives 
neither  light  nor  warmth,  but  lies  sizzling  despondently 
among  the  cinders.  But  the  other  glows  from  end  to 
end  with  cheerful  little  flames  that  go  singing  up  the 
chimney  with  a  pleasant  sound.  Its  light  fills  the  room 
and  shines  out  into  the  dark ;  its  warmth  draws  us 
nearer,  making  the  hearth  the  cosiest  place  in  the  house, 
and  we  shall  all  miss  the  friendly  blaze  w^hen  it  dies. 
Yes,"  she  added,  as  if  to  herself,  "  I  hope  my  life  may 
be  Uke  that,  so  that,  whether  it  be  long  or  short,  it  will 
be  useful  and  cheerful  while  it  lasts,  will  be  missed  when 
it  ends,  and  leave  something  behind  besides  ashes." 

Though  she  only  half  understood  them,  the  girl's 
words  touched  the  kind  old  lady,  and  made  her  look 
anxiously  at  the  eager  young  face  gazing  so  wistfully 
into  the  fire. 

"  A  good  smart  blowin'  up  with  the  belluses  would 
make  the  green  stick  burn  most  as  well  as  the  dry  one 
after  a  spell.  I  guess  contentedness  is  the  best  bellus 
for  young  folks,  ef  they  would  only  think  so." 

"  I  dare  say  you  are  riglit.  Aunty  ;  but  I  want  to  try 
for  myself;  and  if  I  fail,  I'll  come  back  and  follow  your 


8  WORK. 

advice.  Young  folks  always  have  discontented  fits,  you 
know.     Didn't  you  when  you  were  a  girl  ?  " 

"  Shouldn't  wonder  ef  I  did ;  but  Enos  came  along, 
and  I  forgot  'em." 

"  My  Enos  has  not  come  along  yet,  and  never  may  ; 
so  I  'm  not  going  to  sit  and  wait  for  any  man  to  give  me 
independence,  if  I  can  earn  it  for  myself."  And  a 
quick  glance  at  the  gruff,  gray  old  man  in  the  corner 
plainly  betrayed  that,  in  Christie's  opinion.  Aunt  Betsey 
made  a  bad  bargain  when  she  exchanged  her  girlish 
aspirations  for  a  man  whose  soul  was  in  his  pocket. 

"Jest  like  her  mother,  full  of  hifalutin  notions,  dis- 
contented, and  sot  in  her  own  idees.  Poor  capital  to 
start  a  fortin'  on." 

Christie's  eye  met  that  of  her  uncle  peering  over  the 
top  of  his  paper  with  an  expression  that  always  tried 
her  patience.  Now  it  was  like  a  dash  of  cold  Avater  on 
her  enthusiasm,  and  her  face  fell  as  she  asked  quickly  : 

"  How  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  you  are  startin'  all  wrong ;  your  re- 
dic'lus  notions  about  independence  and  self-cultur  won't 
come  to  nothin'  in  the  long  run,  and  you  '11  make  as  bad 
a  fjiilure  of  your  life  as  your  mother  did  of  her'n." 

"Please,  don't  say  that  to  me;  I  can't  bear  it,  for  I 
shall  never  think  her  life  a  failure,  because  she  tried  to 
help  herself,  and  married  a  good  man  in  spite  of  pov- 
erty, when  she  loved  him!  You  call  that  folly;  but 
I  '11  do  the  same  if  I  can  ;  and  I  'd  rather  have  w^hat  my 
father  and  mother  left  me,  than  all  the  money  you  are 
piling  up,  just  for  the  j^leasure  of  being  richer  than 
your  neighbors." 

"  Never  mind,  dear,  he  don't  mean  no  harm  I  "  whis- 
pered Auilf  Betsey,  fearing  a  storm. 


CHRISTIE.  9 

But  though  Christie's  eyes  had  kindled  and  her  color 
deepened,  her  voice  was  low  and  steady,  and  her  indig- 
nation was  of  the  inward  sort. 

"  Uncle  likes  to  try  me  by  saying  such  things,  and 
this  is  one  reason  why  I  want  to  go  away  before  I  get 
sharp  and  bitter  and  distrustful  as  he  is.  I  don't  sup- 
pose I  can  make  you  understand  my  feeling,  but  I  'd 
Uke  to  try,  and  then  I  '11  never  speak  of  it  again ; "  and, 
carefully  controlling  voice  and  face,  Christie  slowly 
added,  with  a  look  that  would  have  been  pathetically 
eloquent  to  one  who  could  have  understood  the  instincts 
of  a  strong  nature  for  light  and  freedom :  "  You  say  I 
am  discontented,  proud  and  ambitious ;  that 's  true,  and 
I  'm  glad  of  it.  I  am  discontented,  because  I  can't  help 
feeling  that  there  is  a  better  sort  of  life  than  this  dull 
one  made  up  of  everlasting  work,  with  no  object  but 
money.  I  can't  starve  my  soul  for  the  sake  of  my 
body,  and  I  mean  to  get  out  of  the  treadmill  if  I  can. 
I  'm  proud,  as  you  call  it,  because  I  hate  dependence 
where  there  isn't  any  love  to  make  it  bearable.  You 
don't  say  so  in  words,  but  I  know  you  begrudge  me  a 
home,  though  you  will  call  me  ungrateful  when  I  'm 
gone.  I  'm  willing  to  work,  but  I  want  work  that  I  can 
put  my  heart  into,  and  feel  that  it  does  me  good,  no 
matter  how  hard  it  is.  I  only  ask  for  a  chance  to  be  a 
useful,  happy  woman,  and  I  don't  think  that  is  a  bad 
ambition.  Even  if  I  only  do  what  my  dear  mother  did, 
earn  my  living  honestly  and  happily,  and  leave  a  beau- 
tiful example  behind  me,  to  help  one  other  woman  as 
hers  helps  me,  I  shall  be  satisfied." 

Christie's  voice  faltered  over  the  last  words,  for  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  which  had  been  working  within 
1* 


10  WORK. 

her  during  the  hast  few  days  had  stirred  her  deeply,  and 
the  resohition  to  cut  loose  from  the  old  life  had  not 
been  lio-htly  made.  Mr.  Devon  had  listened  behind  his 
paper  to  this  unusual  outpouring  with  a  sense  of  dis- 
comfort which  was  new  to  him.  But  though  the  words 
reproached  and  annoyed,  they  did  not  soften  him,  and 
when  Christie  paused  with  tearful  eyes,  her  uncle  rose, 
saying,  slowly,  as  he  lighted  his  candle : 

"  Ef  I  'd  refused  to  let  you  go  before,  I  'd  agree  to  it 
now ;  for  you  need  breakin'  in,  my  girl,  and  you  are 
goin'  where  you  '11  get  it,  so  the  sooner  you  're  off  the 
better  for  all  on  us.  Come,  Betsey,  we  may  as  wal 
leave,  for  we  can't  understand  the  wants  of  her  higher 
nater,  as  Christie  calls  it,  and  we  've  had  lecterin'  enough 
for  one  night."  And  with  a  grim  laugh  the  old  man 
quitted  the  field,  worsted  but  in  good  order. 

"There,  there,  dear,  hev  a  good  cry,  and  forgit  all 
about  it ! "  purred  Aunt  Betsey,  as  the  heavy  footsteps 
creaked  aw^ay,  for  the  good  soul  had  a  most  old-fash- 
ioned and  dutiful  awe  of  her  lord  and  master. 

"  I  shan't  cry  but  act ;  for  it  is  high  time  I  was  off. 
I  've  stayed  for  your  sake  ;  now  I'm  more  trouble  than 
comfort,  and  away  I  go.  Good-night,  my  dear  old 
Aunty,  and  don't  look  troubled,  for  I  '11  be  a  lamb  while 
I  stay." 

Having  kissed  the  old  lady,  Christie  swept  her  work 
away,  and  sat  down  to  write  the  letter  w^hich  was  the 
first  step  toward  freedom.  When  it  was  done,  she 
drew  nearer  to  her  friendly  confidante  the  fire,  and  till 
late  into  the  night  sat  thinking  tenderly  of  the  past, 
bravely  of  the  present,  hopefully  of  the  future.  Twenty- 
one  to-morrow,  and  her  inheritance  a  head,  a  heart,  a 


CHRISTIE.  11 

pair  of  hands ;  also  the  dower  of  most  New  England 
girls,  intelligence,  courage,  and  common  sense,  many 
practical  gifts,  and,  hidden  under  the  reserve  that 
soon  melts  in  a  genial  atmosphere,  much  romance  and 
enthusiasm,  and  the  spirit  which  can  rise  to  heroism 
when  the  great  moment  comes. 

Christie  was  one  of  that  large  class  of  women  who, 
moderately  endowed  with  talents,  earnest  and  true- 
hearted,  are  driven  by  necessity,  temj)erament,  or  prin- 
ciple out  into  the  world  to  find  support,  happiness,  and 
homes  for  themselves.  Many  turn  back  discouraged ; 
more  accept  shadow  for  substance,  and  discover  their 
mistake  too  late ;  the  weakest  lose  their  purpose  and 
themselves ;  but  the  strongest  struggle  on,  and,  after 
danger  and  defeat,  earn  at  last  the  best  success  this 
world  can  give  us,  the  possession  of  a  brave  and  cheer- 
ful spirit,  rich  in  self-knowledge,  self-control,  self-help. 
This  was  the  real  desire  of  Christie's  heart ;  this  was  to 
be  her  lesson  and  reward,  and  to  this  happy  end  she 
was  slowly  yet  surely  brought  by  the  long  discipline  of 
life  and  labor. 

Sitting  alone  there  in  the  night,  she  tried  to  strength- 
en herself  with  all  the  good  and  helpful  memories  she 
could  recall,  before  she  went  away  to  find  her  place  in 
the  great  unknown  woild.  She  thought  of  her  mother, 
so  like  herself,  who  had  borne  the  commonplace  life  of 
home  till  she  could  bear  it  no  longer.  Then  had  gone 
away  to  teach,  as  most  country  girls  are  forced  to  do. 
Had  met,  loved,  and  married  a  poor  gentleman,  and, 
after  a  few  years  of  genuine  happiness,  untroubled  even 
by  much  care  and  poverty,  had  followed  him  out  of  the 
world,  leaving  her  little  child  to  the  protection  of  her 
brother. 


12  WOBK. 

Christie  looked  back  over  the  long,  lonely  years  she 
had  spent  in  the  old  farm-house,  plodding  to  school  and 
church,  and  doing  her  tasks  with  kind  Aunt  Betsey 
while  a  child ;  and  slowly  growing  into  girlhood,  with 
a  world  of  romance  locked  up  in  a  heart  hungry  for 
love  and  a  larger,  nobler  life. 

She  had  tried  to  appease  this  hunger  in  many  ways, 
but  found  little  help.  Her  father's  old  books  were  all 
she  could  command,  and  these  she  wore  out  with  much 
reading.  Inheriting  his  refined  tastes,  she  found  noth- 
ing to  attract  her  in  the  society  of  the  common] dace 
and  often  coarse  people  about  her.  She  tried  to  like 
the  buxom  girls  whose  one  ambition  was  to  "  get  mar- 
ried," and  whose  only  subjects  of  conversation  were 
"  smart  bonnets "  and  "  nice  dresses."  She  tried  to 
beheve  that  the  admiration  and  regard  of  the  bluff 
young  fanners  was  worth  striving  for ;  but  when  one 
well-to-do  neighbor  laid  his  acres  at  her  feet,  she  found 
it  impossible  to  accept  for  her  life's  companion  a  man 
whose  soul  was  wi'apped  up  in  piize  cattle  and  big 
turnips. 

Uncle  Enos  never  could  forgive  her  for  this  piece  of 
folly,  and  Christie  plainly  saw  that  one  of  three  things 
would  surely  happen,  if  she  lived  on  there  with  no  vent 
for  her  full  heart  and  busy  mind.  She  would  either 
maiTy  Joe  Butterfield  in  sheer  desperation,  and  become 
a  farmer's  household  drudge ;  settle  down  into  a  sour 
spinster,  content  to  make  butter,  gossip,  and  lay  up 
money  all  her  days  ;  or  do  what  poor  Matty  Stone  had 
done,  try  to  crush  and  curb  her  needs  and  aspirations 
till  the  struggle  grew  too  hard,  and  then  in  a  fit  of 
despair  end  her  life,  and  leave  a  tragic  story  to  haunt 
their  quiet  river. 


CHRISTIE. 


13 


To  escape  these  fates  but  one  way  appeared ;  to  break 
loose  from  this  narrow  life,  go  out  into  the  world 
and  see  what  she  could  do  for  herself.  This  idea  was 
full  of  enchantment  to  the  eager  girl,  and,  after  much 
earnest  thought,  she  had  resolved  to  try  it. 

"If  I  foil,  I  can  come  back,"  she  said  to  herself,  even 
while  she  scorned  the  thought  of  foilure,  for  with  all 
her  shy  pride  she  was  both  brave  and  ardent,  and  hei- 
dreams  were  of  the  rosiest  sort. 

« I  won't  marry  Joe  ;  I  won't  wear  myself  out  in  a 
district-school  for  the  mean  sum  they  give  a  woman ;  I 
won't  delve  away  here  where  I'm  not  wanted;  and  I 
won't  end  my  life  like  a  coward,  because  it  is  dull  and 
hard.  I'll  try  my  fate  as  mother  did,  and  perhaps  I 
may  succeed  as  well."  And  Christie's  thoughts  went 
wanderincr  away  into  the  dim,  sweet  past  when  she,  a 
happy  child,  lived  with  loving  parents  in  a  different 
world  from  that. 

Lost  in  these  tender  memories,  she  sat  till  the  old 
moon-foced  clock  behind  the  door  struck  twelve,  then 
tlie  visions  vanished,  leaving  their  benison  behind  them. 
As  she  glanced  backward  at  the  smouldering  fire,  a 
slender  spire  of  flame  shot  up  from  the  log  that  had 
blazed  so  cheerily,  and  shone  upon  her  as  she  went.  A 
good  omen,  gratefully  accepted  then,  and  remembered 
often  in  the  years  to  come. 


CHAPTER  n. 

SERVANT. 

A  FORTNIGHT  later,  and  Christie  was  off.  Mrs. 
Flint  Lad  brieHy  answered  that  she  had  a  room, 
and  that  w^ork  w^as  always  to  be  found  in  the  city.  So 
the  girl  packed  her  one  trunk,  folding  away  splendid 
hopes  among  her  plain  gowns,  and  filling  every  corner 
with  happy  fancies,  utterly  impossible  plans,  and  tender 
little  dreams,  so  lovely  at  the  time,  so  pathetic  to 
remember,  when  contact  with  the  hard  realities  of  life 
has  collapsed  our  bright  bubbles,  and  the  frost  of  disap- 
pointment nipped  all  our  morning  glories  in  their  prime. 

The  old  red  stage  stopped  at  Enos  Devon's  door, 
and  his  niece  crossed  the  threshold  after  a  cool  hand- 
shake with  the  master  of  the  house,  and  a  close  em- 
brace with  the  mistress,  who  stood  pouring  out  last 
words  wath  spectacles  too  dim  for  seeing.  Fat  Ben 
swung  up  the  trunk,  slammed  the  door,  mounted  his 
perch,  and  the  ancient  vehicle  swayed  with  premonitory 
symptoms  of  departure. 

Then  something  smote  Christie's  heart.  "  Stop ! " 
she  cried,  and  springing  out  ran  back  into  the  dismal 
room  where  the  old  man  sat.  Straight  up  to  him  she 
went  wath  outstretched  hand,  saying  steadily,  though 
her  face  was  full  of  feeling : 


SERVANT.  15 

"  Uncle,  I  'm  not  satisfied  with  that  good-bye.  I 
don't  mean  to  be  sentimental,  but  I  do  want  to  say, 
'  Forgive  me  ! '  I  see  now  that  I  might  have  made  you 
sorry  to  part  with  me,  if  I  had  tried  to  make  you  love 
me  more.  It 's  too  late  now,  but  I  'm  not  too  proud  to 
confess  when  I  'm  wrong.  I  want  to  part  kindly ;  I  aJ^k 
your  pardon ;  I  thank  you  for  all  you've  done  for  me, 
and  I  say  good-bye  affectionately  now." 

Mr.  Devon  had  a  heart  somewhere,  though  it  seldom 
troubled  him  ;  but  it  did  make  itself  felt  when  the  girl 
looked  at  him  with  his  dead  sister's  eyes,  and  spoke  in 
a  tone  whose  unaccustomed  tenderness  was  a  reproach. 

Conscience  had  pricked  him  more  than  once  that 
week,  and  he  was  glad  to  own  it  now ;  his  rough  sense 
of  honor  was  touched  by  her  frank  expression,  and,  as 
he  answered,  his  hand  was  offered  readily. 

"  I  like  that,  Kitty,  and  think  the  better  of  you  for 't. 
Let  bygones  be  bygones.  I  gen'lly  got  as  good  as  I 
give,  and  I  guess  I  deserved  some  on 't.  I  wish  you 
wal,  my  gu-l,  I  heartily  wish  you  wal,  and  hope  you 
won't  forgit  that  the  old  house  ain't  never  shet  aginst 
you." 

Christie  astonished  him  with  a  cordial  kiss ;  then 
bestowing  another  warm  hug  on  Aunt  Niobe,  as  she 
called  the  old  lady  in  a  tearful  joke,  she  ran  into  the 
carriage,  taking  with  her  all  the  sunshine  of  the 
place. 

Christie  found  Mrs.  Flint  a  dreary  woman,  with 
"  boarders "  written  all  over  her  sour  face  and  faded 
figure.  Butcher's  bills  and  house  rent  seemed  to  fill 
her  eyes  with  sleepless  anxiety;  thriftless  cooks  and 
saucy  housemaids  to  sharpen   the   tones  of  her   shrill 


16  WORK. 

voice ;  and  an  incapable  husband  to  burden  her  shoul- 
ders like  a  modern  "  Old  man  of  the  sea." 

A  little  room  far  up  in  the  tall  house  was  at  the  girl's 
disposal  for  a  reasonable  sum,  and  she  took  possession, 
feeling  very  rich  with  the  hundred  dollars  Uncle  Enos 
gave  her,  and  dehghtfully  independent,  with  no  milk- 
pans  to  scald ;  no  heavy  lover  to  elude ;  no  humdrum 
district  school  to  imprison  her  day  after  day. 

For  a  week  she  enjoyed  her  liberty  heartily,  then  set 
about  finding  something  to  do.  Her  wish  was  to  be  a 
governess,  that  being  the  usual  refuge  for  respectable 
girls  who  have  a  living  to  get.  But  Christie  soon  found 
her  want  of  accomplishments  a  barrier  to  success  in 
that  line,  for  the  mammas  thought  less  of  the  solid  than 
of  the  ornamental  branches,  and  wished  their  little  dar- 
lings to  learn  French  before  English,  music  before 
gi-ammar,  and  drawing  before  writing. 

So,  after  several  disappointments,  Christie  decided 
that  her  education  was  too  old-fashioned  for  the  city, 
and  gave  up  the  idea  of  teaching.  Sewing  she  resolved 
not  to  try  till  every  thing  else  failed ;  and,  after  a  few 
more  attempts  to  get  writing  to  do,  she  said  to  herself, 
in  a  fit  of  humility  and  good  sense  :  "  I  '11  begin  at  the 
beginning,  and  work  my  way  up.  I  '11  put  my  pride  in 
my  pocket,  and  go  out  to  service.  Housework  I  like, 
and  can  do  well,  thanks  to  Aunt  Betsey.  I  never 
thought  it  degradation  to  do  it  for  her,  so  why  should 
I  mind  doing  it  for  others  if  they  pay  for  it  ?  It  isn't 
what  I  want,  but  it 's  better  than  idleness,  so  I  '11  try  it ! " 

Full  of  this  wise  resolution,  she  took  to  haunting  that 
purgatory  of  the  poor,  an  intelligence  office.  Mrs. 
Flint  gave  her  a  recommendation,  and  she  hopefully 


SERVANT.  IT 

took  her  place  among  the  ranks  of  buxom  German, 
incapable  Irish,  and  '•  smart "  American  women  ;  for  in 
those  days  foreign  help  had  not  driven  larmers'  daugh- 
ters out  of  the  held,  and  made  domestic  comfort  a  lost 

art. 

At  first  Christie  enjoyed  the  novelty  of  the  thing, 
and  watched  with  interest  the  anxious  housewives  who 
flocked  in  demanding  that  rara  avis,  an  angel  at  nine 
shillings  a  week;  and  not  finding  it,  bewailed  the 
degeneracy  of  the  times.  Being  too  honest  to  profess 
hei-self  absolutely  perfect  in  every  known  branch  of 
house-work,  it  was  some  time  before  she  suited  herself. 
Meanwhile,  she  was  questioned  and  lectured,  half  en- 
gaged and  kept  waiting,  dismissed  for  a  whim,  and  so 
worried  that  she  began  to  regard  herself  as  the  incar- 
nation of  all  human  vanities  and  shortcomings. 

«  A  desirable  place  in  a  small,  genteel  family,"  was  at 
last  offered  her,  and  she  posted  away  to  secure  it,  having 
reached  a  state  of  desperation  and  resolved  to  go  as  a 
first-class  cook  rather  than  sit  with  her  hands  before  her 
any  longer. 

A  well-appointed  house,  good  wages,  and  light  duties 
seemed  things  to  be  grateful  for,  and  Christie  decided 
that  going  out  to  service  was  not  the  hardest  fate  in 
life,  as  she  stood  at  the  door  of  a  handsome  house  in  a 
sunny  square  waiting  to  be  inspected. 

Mrs.  Stuart,  havinc:  just  returned  from  Italy,  afiected 
the  artistic,  and  the  new  applicant  found  her  with  a 
Roman  scarf  about  her  head,  a  rosary  like  a  string  of 
small  cannon  balls  at  her  side,  and  azure  draperies 
which  became  her  as  well  as  they  did  the  sea-green 
furniture  of  her  marine  boudoir,  where  unwary  walkers 


18 


WORK. 


tripped  over  coral  and  shells,  grew  sea-sick  looking  at 
pictures  of  tempestuous  billows  engulfing  every  sort  of 
crafl,  from  a  man-of-war  to  a  hencoop  with  a  ghostly 
young  lady  clinging  to  it  with  one  hand,  and  had  their 
appetites  effectually  taken  away  by  a  choice  collection 
of  water-bugs  and  snakes  in  a  glass  globe,  that  looked 
like  a  jar  of  mixed  pickles  in  a  state  of  agitation. 


Mrs.  Stuakt. 


SERVANT.  19 

Madame  was  intent  on  a  water-color  copy  of  Turner's 
«  Rain,  Wind,  and  Hail,"  that  })leasing  work  which  was 
sold  upsidedown  and  no  one  found  it  out.  Motioning 
Christie  to  a  seat  she  finished  some  delicate  sloppy- 
process  before  speaking.  In  that  little  pause  Christie 
examined  her,  and  the  impression  then  received  was 
afterward  confirmed. 

I^Irs.  Stuart  possessed  some  beauty  and  chose  to  think 
herself  a  queen  of  society.  She  assumed  majestic  man- 
ners in  public  and  could  not  entirely  divest  herself  of 
them  in  private,  which  often  produced  comic  effects. 
Zenobia  troubled  about  fish-sauce,  or  Aspasia  indignant 
at  the  price  of  eggs  will  give  some  idea  of  this  lady 
when  she  condescended  to  the  cares  of  housekeeping. 

Presently  she  looked  up  and  inspected  the  girl  as  if 
a  new  servant  were  no  more  than  a  new  bonnet,  a 
necessary  article  to  be  ordered  home  for  examination. 
Christie  presented  her  recommendation,  made  her  mod- 
est little  speech,  and  awaited  her  doom. 

Mrs.  Stuart  read,  listened,  and  then  demanded  with 
queenly  brevity : 

"Your  name?" 

"  Christie  Devon." 

"  Too  long ;  I  should  prefer  to  call  you  Jane  as  I  am 
accustomed  to  the  name." 

"  As  you  please,  ma'am." 

"  Your  age  ?  " 

«  Twenty-one." 

"  You  are  an  American  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

Mrs.  Stuart  gazed  into  space  a  moment,  then  deliv- 
ered the  following  address  with  impressive  solemnity. 


20  V/OIIK. 

"  I  wish  a  capable,  intelligent,  honest,  neat,  well-con- 
ducted person  who  knows  her  place  and  keeps  it.  The 
work  is  light,  as  there  are  but  two  in  the  family.  I  am 
very  particular  and  so  is  Mr.  Stuart.  I  pay  two  dollars 
and  a  halt^  allow  one  afternoon  out,  one  service  on  Sun- 
day, and  no  followers.  My  table-girl  must  understand 
her  duties  thoroughly,  be  extremely  neat,  and  always 
wear  white  aprons." 

"  I  think  I  can  suit  you,  ma'am,  when  I  have  learned 
the  wnys  of  the  house,"  meekly  replied  Christie. 

Mrs.  Stuart  looked  OTaciouslv  satisfied  and  returned 

o  » 

the  paper  with  a  gesture  that  Victoria  might  have  used 
in  restoring  a  granted  petition,  though  her  next  words 
rnther  marred  the  effect  of  the  regal  act,  "  My  cook  is 
black." 

"  I  haA'e  no  objection  to  color,  ma'am." 

An  exj^ression  of  relief  dawned  upon  Mrs.  Stuart's 
countenance,  for  the  black  cook  had  been  an  insur- 
mountable obstacle  to  all  the  Irish  ladies  who  had 
api^lied.  Thoughtfully  tapping  her  Roman  nose  with 
the  handle  of  her  brush  Madame  took  another  survey 
of  the  new  apphcant,  and  seeing  that  she  looked  neat, 
intelligent,  and  respectful,  gave  a  sigh  of  thankfulness 
and  engaged  her  on  the  spot. 

Much  elated  Christie  rushed  home,  selected  a  bag  of 
necessary  articles,  bundled  the  rest  of  her  possessions 
into  an  empty  closet  (lent  her  rent-free  owing  to  a  pro- 
fusion of  cockroaches),  paid  up  her  board,  and  at  two 
o'clock  introduced  herself  to  Hepsey  Johnson,  her  fellow 
serA'ant. 

Hepsey  was  a  tall,  gaunt  woman,  bearing  the  trngedy 
of  her  race  written  in   her  face,  with  its  melancholy 


SERVANT.  21 

eyes,  subdued  expression,  and  the  pathetic  patience  of 
a  wronged  dumb  aninud.  She  received  Christie  with 
an  air  of  resignation,  and  speedily  bewildered  her  with 
an  account  of  the  duties  she  would  be  expected  to  per- 
form. 

A  long  and  careful  drill  enabled  Christie  to  set  the 
table  with  but  few  mistakes,  and  to  retain  a  tolerably 
clear  recollection  of  the  order  of  performances.  She 
had  just  assumed  her  badge  of  servitude,  as  she  called 
the  white  apron,  when  the  bell  rang  violently  and  Hep- 
sey,  who  was  hurrying  away  to  "  dish  up,"  said : 

*'  It's  de  marster.  You  has  to  answer  de  bell,  honey, 
and  he  likes  it  done  bery  spry." 

Christie  ran  and  admitted  an  impetuous,  stout  gentle- 
man, who  appeared  to  be  incensed  against  the  elements, 
for  he  burst  in  as  if  blown,  shook  himself  like  a  New- 
foundland dog,  and  said  all  in  one  breath : 

"  You  're  the  new  girl,  are  you  ?  Well,  take  my 
umbrella  and  pull  off  my  rubbers." 

"Sir?" 

Mr.  Stuart  was  struggling  with  his  gloves,  and,  quite 
unconscious  of  the  astonishment  of  his  new  maid,  impa- 
tiently repeated  his  request. 

"  Take  this  wet  thing  away,  and  pull  off  my  over- 
shoes. Don't  you  see  it 's  raining  like  the  very 
deuce ! " 

Christie  folded  her  lips  together  in  a  peculiar  manner 
as  she  knelt  down  and  removed  a  pair  of  muddy  over- 
shoes, took  the  dripping  umbrella,  and  was  walking 
away  with  her  agreeable  burden  when  Mr.  Stuart  gave 
her  another  shock  by  calling  over  the  banister  : 

"I'm  going  out  again;  so  clean  those  rubbers,  nnd 


22  WORK. 

see  that  the  boots  I  sent  down  this  morning  are  in 
order." 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  Christie  meekly,  and  imme- 
diately afterward  startled  Hepsey  by  casting  overshoes 
and  umbrella  upon  the  kitchen  floor,  and  indignantly 
demanding : 

"  Am  I  expected  to  be  a  boot-jack  to  that  man?  " 

"  I  'spects  you  is,  honey." 

"  Am  I  also  expected  to  clean  his  boots  ?  " 

"  Yes,  chile.  Katy  did,  and  de  work  ain't  hard  when 
you  gits  used  to  it." 

"  It  isn't  the  work ;  it 's  the  degradation ;  and  I  won't 
submit  to  it." 

Christie  looked  fiercely  determined ;  but  Hepsey 
shook  her  head,  saying  quietly  as  she  went  on  garnish- 
ing a  dish : 

"  Dere  's  more  'gradin'  works  dan  dat,  chile,  and  dem 
dat  's  bin  'bliged  to  do  ura  finds  dis  sort  bery  easy. 
You 's  paid  for  it,  honey ;  and  if  you  does  it  willin,  it 
w^on't  hurt  you  more  dan  washin'  de  marster's  dishes,  or 
sweepin'  his  rooms." 

"  There  ought  to  be  a  boy  to  do  this  sort  of  thing. 
Do  you  think  it 's  right  to  ask  it  of  me  ?  "  cried  Christie, 
feeling  that  being  servant  was  not  as  pleasant  a  task  as 
she  had  thought  it. 

"  Dunno,  chile.  I  'se  shore  I  'd  never  ask  it  of  any 
woman  if  I  was  a  man,  'less  I  was  sick  or  ole.  But 
folks  don't  seem  to  'member  dat  we  've  got  feelin's,  and 
de  best  way  is  not  to  mind  dese  ere  little  trubbles. 
You  jes  leave  de  boots  to  me ;  blackin'  can't  do  dese 
ole  hands  no  hurt,  and  dis  ain't  no  deggydation  to  me 
now  ;  I 's  a  fi-ee  woman." 


SEBVAXT.  23 

"  Why,  Ilepsey,  were  you  ever  a  slave?"  asked  the 
girl,  forgetting  her  own  small  injury  at  this  suggestion 
of  the  greatest  of  all  wrongs. 

"  All  my  life,  till  I  run  away  five  year  ago.  My  ole 
folks,  and  eight  brudders  and  sisters,  is  down  dere  in  de 
pit  now,  waitin'  for  the  Lord  to  set  'em  free.  And  He 's 
gwine  to  do  it  soon,  soon/"  As  she  uttered  the  last 
words,  a  sudden  light  chased  the  tragic  shadow  from 
Hepsey's  face,  and  the  solemn  fervor  of  her  voice 
thrilled  Christie's  heart.  All  her  anger  died  out  in  a 
great  pity,  and  she  put  her  hand  on  the  woman's  shoul- 
der, saying  earnestly : 

"  I  hope  so ;  and  I  wish  I  could  help  to  bring  that 
happy  day  at  once !  " 

For  the  first  time  Hei)sey  smiled,  as  she  said  grate- 
fully, "  De  Lord  bress  you  for  dat  wish,  chile."  Then, 
dropping  suddenly  into  her  old,  quiet  way,  she  added, 
turning  to  her  work: 

"  Now  you  tote  up  de  dinner,  and  I  '11  be  handy  by  to 
'fresh  your  mind  'bout  how  de  dishes  goes,  for  missis  is 
bery  'ticular,  and  don't  like  no  'stakes  in  tendin'." 

Thanks  to  her  own  neat-handed  ways  and  Hepsey's 
prompting  through  the  slide,  Christie  got  on  veiy  well ; 
managed  her  salver  dexterously,  only  upset  one  glass, 
clashed  one  dish-cover,  and  forgot  to  sugar  the  pie 
before  putting  it  on  the  table ;  an  omission  which  was 
majestically  pointed  out,  and  graciously  pardoned  as  a 
fi  -St  ofience. 

By  seven  o'clock  the  ceremonial  was  fairly  over,  and 
Christie  dropped  into  a  chair  quite  tired  out  with  fre- 
quent pacings  to  and  fro.  In  the  kitchen  she  found  the 
table  spread  for  one,  and  Hepsey  busy  with  the  boots. 


24  WORK, 

"Aren't  you  coming  to  your  dinner,  Mrs.  Johnson ?" 
she  asked,  not  pleased  at  the  arrangement. 

"  "When  you 's  done,  honey  ;  dere  's  no  hurry  'bout  me. 
Katy  Uked  dat  way  best,  and  I  'se  used  ter  waitin'." 

"  But  I  don't  like  that  \7ay,'and  I  won't  liave  it.  I 
suppose  Katy  thought  her  white  skin  gave  her  a  right 
to  be  disrespectful  to  a  woman  old  enough  to  be  her 
mother  just  because  she  was  black.  I  don't ;  and  while 
I  'm  here,  there  must  be  no  difierence  made.  If  we  can 
work  together,  we  can  eat  together;  and  because  you 
have  been  a  slave  is  all  the  more  reason  I  should  be 
good  to  you  now." 

If  Hepsey  had  been  surprised  by  the  new  girl's  pro- 
test against  being  made  a  boot-jack  of,  she  was  still 
more  surprised  at  this  sudden  kindness,  for  she  had  set 
Christie  down  in  her  own  mind  as  "  one  ob  dera  toppin' 
smart  ones  dat  don't  stay  long  nowheres."  She  changed 
her  opinion  now,  and  sat  watching  the  girl  with  a  new 
expression  on  her  face,  as  Christie  took  boot  and  brush 
from  her,  and  fell  to  work  energetically,  saying  as  she 
scrubbed : 

"I'm  ashamed  of  complaining  about  such  a  little 
thing  as  this,  and  don't  mean  to  feel  degraded  by  it, 
tliough  I  should  by  letting  you  do  it  for  me.  I  never 
lived  out  before :  that 's  the  reason  I  made  a  fuss. 
There's  a  polish,  for  you,  and  I'm  in  a  good  humor 
again  ;  so  Mr.  Stuart  may  call  for  his  boots  whenever 
he  likes,  and  we  '11  go  to  dinner  like  fashionable  people, 
as  we  are." 

There  was  something  so  irresistible  in  the  girl's  hearty 
manner,  that  Hepsey  submitted  at  once  with  a  visible 
satisfaction,  which  gave  a  relish  to  Christie's  dinner, 


SERVANT.  ^^ 

though  it  was  eaten  at  a  kitchen  table,  with  a  bare- 
armed  cook  sittinoc  opposite,  and  three  rows  of  bur- 
nished dish-covers  reflecting  the  dreadful  spectacle. 

After  this,  Christie  got  on  excellently,  for  she  did  her 
best,  and  found  both  pleasure  and  profit  in  her  new 
employment.  It  gave  her  real  satisfaction  to  keep  the 
handsome  rooms  in  order,  to  polish  plate,  and  spread 
bountiful  meals.  There  was  an  atmosphere  of  ease 
and  comfort  about  her  which  contrasted  agreeably  with 
the  shabbiness  of  Mrs.  Flint's  boarding-house,  and  the 
bare  simplicity  of  the  old  home.  Like  most  young 
people,  Christie  loved  luxury,  and  was  sensible  enough 
to  see  and  value  the  comforts  of  her  situation,  and  to 
wonder  why  more  girls  placed  as  she  was  did  not 
choose  a  life  like  this  rather  than  the  confinements  of  a 
sewing-room,  or  the  fatigue  and  publicity  of  a  shop. 

She  did  not  learn  to  love  her  mistress,  because  Mrs. 
Stuart  evidently  considered  herself  as  one  belonging  to 
a  superior  race  of  beings,  and  had  no  desire  to  establish 
any  of  the  friendly  relations  that  may  become  so  help- 
ful and  pleasant  to  both  mistress  and  maid.  She  made 
a  royal  progress  through  her  dominions  every  morning, 
issued  orders,  found  fault  liberally,  bestowed  praise 
sparingly,  and  took  no  more  personal  interest  in  her  ser- 
vants than  if  they  were  clocks,  to  be  wound  up  once  a 
day,  and  sent  away  the  moment  they  got  out  of  repair. 

Mr.  Stuart  was  absent  from  morning  till  night,  and 
all  Christie  ever  knew  about  him  was  that  he  was  a 
kind-hearted,  hot-tempered,  and  very  conceited  man; 
fond  of  his  wife,  proud  of  the  society  they  managed  to 
draw  about  them,  and  bent  on  making  his  way  in  the 
world  at  anv  cost. 


26  WORK. 

If  masters  and  mistresses  knew  how  skilfully  they 
are  studied,  criticised,  and  imitated  by  their  servants, 
they  would  take  more  hee^:!  to  their  ways,  and  set 
better  examples,  perhajDS.  Mrs.  Stuart  never  di-eamed 
that  her  quiet,  respectful  Jane  kept  a  sharp  eye  on  all 
her  movements,  smiled  covertly  at  her  affectations, 
envied  her  accomplishments,  and  practised  certain  little 
elegancies  that  struck  her  fancy. 

Mr.  Stuart  would  have  become  apoplectic  with  indig- 
nation if  he  had  known  that  this  too  intelligent  table- 
girl  often  contrasted  her  master  with  his  guests,  and 
dared  to  think  him  wanting  in  good  breeding  when  he 
boasted  of  his  money,  flattered  a  great  man,  or  laid 
plans  to  lure  some  lion  into  his  house.  When  he  lost 
his  temper,  she  always  wanted  to  laugh,  he  bounced 
and  bumbled  about  so  like  an  angry  blue-bottle  fly ; 
and  when  he  got  himself  up  elaborately  for  a  party, 
this  disrespectful  hussy  confided  to  Ilepsey  her  opinion 
that  "  master  was  a  fat  dandy,  with  nothing  to  be  vain 
of  but  his  clothes,"  —  a  sacrilegious  remark  which 
would  have  caused  her  to  be  summarily  ejected  from 
the  house  if  it  had  reached  the  august  ears  of  master 
or  mistress. 

"  My  father  was  a  gentleman ;  and  I  shall  never  for- 
get it,  though  I  do  go  out  to  service.  I  've  got  no  rich 
friends  to  help  me  up,  but,  sooner  or  later,  I  mean  to 
find  a  place  among  cultivated  people ;  and  while  Fm 
working  and  waiting,  I  can  be  fitting  myself  to  fill  that 
place  like  a  gentlewoman,  as  I  am." 

With  this  ambition  in  her  mind,  Christie  took  notes 
of  all  that  went  on  in  the  polite  world,  of  which  she 
got  frequent  glimpses  while  "  living  out."     Mrs.  Stuart 


SERVANT.  27 

received  one  evening  of  each  week,  and  on  these  occa- 
sions Christie,  with  an  extra  frill  on  her  white  apron, 
served  tlie  company,  and  enjoyed  herself  more  than 
they  did,  if  the  truth  had  been  known. 

While  helping  the  ladies  with  their  wraps,  she 
observed  what  they  wore,  how  they  carried  them- 
selves, and  what  a  vast  amount  of  prinking  they  did, 
not  to  mention  the  flood  of  gossip  they  talked  while 
shaking  out  their  flounces  and  settling  their  topknots. 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  she  passed  cups  and 
glasses,  this  demure-looking  damsel  heard  much  fine 
discourse,  saw  many  famous  beings,  and  improved  her 
mind  with  surreptitious  studies  of  the  rich  and  great 
when  on  parade.  But  her  best  time  was  after  supper, 
when,  through  the  crack  of  the  door  of  the  little  room 
where  she  was  supposed  to  be  clearing  away  the  relics 
of  the  feast,  she  looked  and  listened  at  her  ease ; 
laughed  at  the  wits,  stared  at  the  lions,  heard  the  music, 
was  impressed  by  the  wisdom,  and  much  edified  by  the 
gentility  of  the  whole  afiair. 

After  a  time,  however,  Christie  got  rather  tired  of  it, 
for  there  was  an  elegant  sameness  about  these  evenings 
that  became  intensely  wearisome  to  the  uninitiated,  but 
she  fancied  that  as  each  had  his  part  to  play  he  man- 
aged to  do  it  with  spirit.  Night  after  night  the  wag 
told  his  stories,  the  poet  read  his  poems,  the  singers 
warbled,  the  pretty  women  simpered  and  dressed,  the 
heavy  scientific  was  duly  discussed  by  the  elect  precious, 
and  Mrs.  Stuart,  in  amazing  costumes,  sailed  to  and  fro 
in  her  most  swan-like  manner ;  while  my  lord  stirred 
up  the  lions  he  had  captured,  till  they  roared  their  best, 
great  and  small. 


28  WORK. 

"  Good  heavens !  why  don't  they  do  or  say  something 
new  and  interesting,  and  not  keep  twaddling  on  about 
art,  and  music,  and  poetry,  and  cosmos  ?  The  papers 
are  full  of  appeals  for  help  for  the  poor,  reforms  of  all 
sorts,  and  splendid  work  that  others  are  doing;  but 
these  people  seem  to  think  it  isn't  genteel  enough  to  be 
spoken  of  here.  I  suppose  it  is  all  very  elegant  to  go 
on  like  a  set  of  trained  canaries,  but  it 's  very  dull  fun 
to  watch  them,  and  Hepsey's  stories  are  a  deal  more 
interesting  to  me." 

Having  come  to  this  conclusion,  after  studying  dilet- 
tanteism  through  the  crack  of  the  door  for  some  months, 
Christie  left  the  "  trained  canaries  "  to  twitter  and  hop 
about  their  gilded  cage,  and  devoted  herself  to  Hepsey, 
who  gave  her  glimpses  into  another  sort  of  life  so  bit- 
terly real  that  she  never  could  forget  it. 


/  ( 


Hepsey. 

Friendship  had  prospered  in  the  lower  regions,  for 
Hepsey  had  a  motherly  heart,  and  Christie  soon  won 


SERVANT.  29 

her  confidence  by  bestowing  her  own.  Her  story  was 
like  many  anotlier;  yet,  being  the  first  Christie  liad 
ever  heard,  and  told  with  the  unconscious  eloquence  of 
one  who  had  suffered  and  escaped,  it  made 'a  deep  im- 
pression on  her,  bringing  home  to  her  a  sense  of  obliga- 
tion so  forcibly  that  she  began  at  once  to  pay  a  little 
part  of  the  great  debt  which  the  white  race  owes  the 
black. 

Christie  loved  books  ;  and  the  attic  next  her  own  was 
full  of  them.  To  this  store  she  found  her  w^ay  by  a  sort 
of  instinct  as  sure  as  that  which  leads  a  fly  to  a  honey- 
pot,  and,  finding  many  novels,  she  read  her  fill.  This 
amusement  lightened  many  heavy  hours,  peopled  the 
silent  house  with  troops  of  friends,  and,  for  a  time,  was 
the  joy  of  her  life. 

Hepsey  used  to  watch  her  as  she  sat  buried  in  her 
book  w^ien  the  day's  work  w^as  done,  and  once  a  heavy 
sigh  roused  Christie  from  the  most  exciting  crisis  of 
"The  Abbot." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  Are  you  very  tired.  Aunty  ?  " 
she  asked,  using  the  name  that  came  most  readily  to 
her  lips. 

"  No,  honey ;  I  was  only  Avishin'  I  could  read  fast 
like  you  does.  I 's  berry  slow  'bout  readin'  and  I  want 
to  learn  a  heap,"  answered  Hepsey,  with  such  a  wistful 
look  in  her  soft  eyes  that  Christie  shut  her  book,  saying 
briskly : 

"  Then  I  '11  teach  you.  Bring  out  your  primer  and 
let's  begin  at  once." 

"  Dear  chile,  it 's  orful  hard  w^ork  to  put  learnin'  in 
my  ole  head,  and  I  wouldn't  'cept  such  a  ting  from  you 
only  I  needs  dis  sort  of  help  so  bad,  and  I  can  trust  you 
to  gib  it  to  me  as  I  wants  it." 


30  WORK. 

Then  in  a  whisper  that  went  straight  to  Christie's 
heart,  Hepsey  told  her  plan  and  showed  what  help  she 
craved. 

For  five  years  she  had  worked  hard,  and  saved  lier 
earnings  for  the  purpose  of  her  life.  When  a  consider- 
able sum  had  been  hoarded  up,  she  confided  it  to  one 
whom  she  believed  to  be  a  friend,  and  sent  him  to  buy 
her  old  mother.  But  he  proved  false,  and  she  never 
saw  either  mother  or  money.  It  was  a  hard  blow,  but 
she  took  heart  and  went  to  work  again,  resolving  this 
time  to  trust  no  one  with  the  dangerous  part  of  the 
affiur,but  when  she  had  scraped  together  enough  to  pay 
her  way  she  meant  to  go  South  and  steal  her  mother  at 
the  risk  of  her  life. 

"I  don't  want  much  money,  but  I  must  know  little 
'bout  readin'  and  countin'  up,  else  I  '11  get  lost  and 
cheated.  You  '11  help  me  do  dis,  honey,  and  I  '11  bless 
you  all  my  days,  and  so  will  my  old  mammy,  if  I  ever 
gets  her  safe  away." 

With  tears  of  sympathy  shining  on  her  cheeks,  and 
both  hands  stretched  out  to  the  poor  soul  who  implored 
this  small  boon  of  her,  Christie  promised  all  the  help 
that  in  her  lay,  and  kept  her  word  religiously. 

From  that  time,  Hepsey's  cause  was  hers ;  she  Inid 
by  a  part  of  her  wages  for  "  ole  mammy,"  she  com- 
forted Hepsey  with  happy  prophecies  of  success,  and 
taught  with  an  energy  and  skill  she  had  never  known 
before.  Novels  lost  their  charms  now,  for  Hepsey  could 
give  her  a  comedy  and  tragedy  surpassing  any  thing 
she  found  in  them,  because  tnith  stamped  her  tales  with 
a  power  and  pathos  the  most  gifted  fancy  could  but 
poorly  imitate. 


SERVANT.  31 

The  select  receptions  upstairs  seemed  duller  than 
ever  to  her  now,  and  her  happiest  evenings  were  spent 
in  the  tidy  kitchen,  watching  Hepsey  laboriously  shap- 
ing A's  and  B's,  or  counting  up  on  her  worn  fingers  the 
wages  they  had  earned  by  months  of  weary  work,  that 
slie  might  purchase  one  treasure,  —  a  feeble,  old  woman, 
worn  out  with  seventy  years  of  slavery  far  away  there 
in  Virginia. 

For  a  year  Christie  was  a  faithful  servant  to  her 
mistress,  who  appreciated  her  virtues,  but  did  not 
encourage  them ;  a  true  friend  to  poor  Hepsey,  who 
loved  her  dearly,  and  found  in  her  sympathy  and  afi*ec- 
tion  a  solace  for  many  griefs  and  wrongs.  But  Provi- 
dence had  other  lessons  for  Christie,  and  when  this  one 
was  well  learned  she  was  sent  away  to  learn  another 
phase  of  woman's  life  and  labor. 

While  their  domestics  amused  themselves  with  privy 
conspiracy  and  rebelUon  at  home,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stuart 
spent  their  evenings  in  chasing  that  bright  bubble 
called  social  success,  and  usually  came  home  rather 
cross  because  they  could  not  catch  it. 

On  one  of  these  occasions  they  received  a  warm 
welcome,  for,  as  they  a])proached  the  house,  smoke  was 
seen  issuing  from  an  attic  window,  and  flames  flickering 
behind  the  half-drawn  curtain.  Bursting  out  of  the 
carriage  with  his  usual  impetuosity,  Mr.  Stuart  let  him- 
self in  and  tore  upstairs  shouting  "Fire!"  like  an 
engine  company. 

In  the  attic  Christie  was  discovered  lying  dressed 
upon  her  bed,  asleep  or  suffocated  by  the  smoke  that 
filled  the  room.  A  book  had  slipped  from  her  hand, 
and  in  falling  had  upset  the  candle  on  a  chair  beside 


32  WORK. 

her ;  the  long  wick  leaned  against  a  cotton  gown  hang- 
ing on  the  wall,  and  a  greater  part  of  Christie's  ward- 
robe was  burning  brilliantly. 

"  I  forbade  lier  to  keep  the  gas  lighted  so  late,  and 
see  what  the  deceitful  creature  has  done  with  her  pri- 
vate candle ! "  cried  Mrs.  Stuart  with  a  shrillness  that 
roused  the  girl  fi'ora  her  heavy  sleep  more  eftectually 
than  the  anathemas  Mr.  Stuart  was  fulminating  against 
the  fire. 

Sitting  up  she  looked  dizzily  about  her.  The  smoke 
was  clearing  fast,  a  window  having  been  opened ;  and 
the  tableau  was  a  striking  one.  Mr.  Stuart  with  an 
excited  countenance  was  dancing  frantically  on  a  heap 
of  half-consumed  clothes  pulled  from  the  wall.  He  had 
not  only  drenched  them  with  water  from  bowl  and 
pitcher,  but  had  also  cast  those  articles  upon  the  pile 
like  extinguishers,  and  was  skipping  among  the  frag- 
ments Avith  an  agility  which  contrasted  with  his  stout 
figure  in  full  evening  costume,  and  his  besmirched  face, 
made  the  sight  irresistibly  ludicrous. 

Mrs.  Stuart,  though  in  her  most  regal  array,  seemed 
to  have  left  her  dignity  downstairs  with  her  opera 
cloak,  for  with  skirts  gathered  closely  about  her,  tiara 
all  askew,  and  face  full  of  fear  and  anger,  she  stood 
upon  a  chair  and  scolded  like  any  shrew. 

The  comic  overpowered  the  tragic,  and  being  a  little 
hysterical  with  the  sudden  alarm,  Christie  broke  into  a 
peal  of  laughter  that  sealed  her  fate. 

"  Look  at  her !  look  at  her !  "  cried  Mrs.  Stuart  gestic- 
ulating on  her  perch  as  if  about  to  fly.  "  She  has  been 
at  the  wine,  or  lost  her  wits.  She  must  go,  Horatio, 
she  must  go !     I  cannot  have  my  nerves  shattered  by 


SERVANT.  33 

such  dreadful  scenes.  She  is  too  fond  of  books,  and  it 
has  turned  lier  brain.  Ilepsey  can  watch  Iier  to-night, 
and  at  dawn  slie  shall  leave  the  house  for  ever." 

"  Not  till  after  breakfast,  my  dear.  Let  us  have  that 
in  comfort  I  beg,  for  upon  my  soul  we  shall  need  it," 
panted  Mr.  Stuart,  sinking  into  a  chair  exhausted  with 
the  vigorous  measures  which  had  quenched  the  con- 
flagration. 

Christie  checked  her  untimely  mirth,  explained  the 
probable  cause  of  the  mischief,  and  penitently  promised 
to  be  more  careful  for  the  future. 

Mr.  Stuart  would  have  pardoned  her  on  the  spot,  but 
Madame  was  inexorable,  for  she  had  so  completely  for- 
gotten her  dignity  that  she  felt  it  would  be  impossible 
ever  to  recover  it  in  the  eyes  of  this  disrespectful 
menial.  Therefore  she  dismissed  her  with  a  lecture 
that  made  both  mistress  and  maid  glad  to  part. 

She  did  not  appear  at  breakfast,  and  after  that  meal 
Mr.  Stuart  paid  Christie  her  wages  with  a  solemnity 
which  proved  that  he  had  taken  a  curtain  lecture  to 
heart.  There  was  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  however,  as  he 
kindly  added  a  recommendation,  and  after  the  door 
closed  behind  him  Christie  was  sure  that  he  exploded 
into  a  laugh  at  the  recollection  of  his  last  night's  per- 
formance. 

This  lightened  her  sense  of  disgrace  very  much,  so, 
leaving  a  part  of  her  money  to  repair  damages,  she 
packed  up  her  dilapidated  wardrobe,  and,  making  Hep- 
sey  promise  to  report  progress  from  time  to  time,  Chris- 
tie went  back  to  Mrs.  Flint's  to  compose  her  mind  and 
be  ready  a  la  Micawber  "  for  something  to  turn  up." 
2*  c 


CHAPTER  III. 

ACTRESS. 

FEELING  that  she  had  all  the  world  before  her 
where  to  choose,  and  that  her  next  step  ought  to 
take  her  up  at  least  one  round  higher  on  the  ladder  she 
was  climbing,  Christie  decided  not  to  try  going  out  to 
service  again.  She  knew  very  well  that  she  would 
never  live  with  Irish  mates,  and  could  not  expect  to 
find  another  Hepsey.  So  she  tried  to  get  a  place  as 
companion  to  an  invalid,  but  failed  to  secure  the  only 
situation  of  the  sort  that  was  offered  her,  because  she 
mildly  objected  to  waiting  on  a  nervous  cripple  all  day, 
and  reading  aloud  half  the  night.  The  old  lady  called 
her  an  "  impertinent  baggage,"  and  Christie  retired  in 
great  disgust,  resolving  not  to  be  a  slave  to  anybody. 

Things  seldom  turn  out  as  we  plan  them,  and  after 
much  waiting  and  hoping  for  other  work  Christie  at 
last  accepted  about  the  only  employment  which  had 
not  entered  her  mind. 

Among  the  boarders  at  Mrs.  Flint's  were  an  old  lady 
and  her  pretty  daughter,  both  actresses  at  a  respectable 
theatre.  Not  stars  by  any  means,  but  good  second-rate 
players,  doing  their  work  creditably  and  earning  an 
honest  living.  The  mother  had  been  kind  to  Christie 
in  offering  advice,  and  s^-mpathizing  with  her  disap- 


ACTRESS,  35 

pointments.  The  daughter,  a  gay  Uttle  lass,  had  taken 
Cliristie  to  the  theatre  several  times,  there  to  behold 
her  in  all  the  gauzy  glories  that  surround  the  nymphs 
of  spectacular  romance. 

To  Christie  this  was  a  great  delight,  for,  though  she 
had  pored  over  her  father's  Shakespeare  till  she  knew 
many  scenes  by  heart,  she  had  never  seen  a  play  till 
Lucy  led  her  into  what  seemed  an  enchanted  world. 
Her  interest  and  admiration  pleased  the  little  actress, 
and  sundry  lifts  when  she  was  hurried  with  her  dresses 
made  her  grateful  to  Christie. 

The  girl's  despondent  face,  as  she  came  in  day  after 
day  from  her  unsuccessful  quest,  told  its  own  story, 
though  she  uttered  no  complaint,  and  these  fi'iendly 
souls  laid  their  heads  together,  eager  to  help  her  in 
their  own  dramatic  fashion. 

"  I  've  got  it !  I  've  got  it !  All  hail  to  the  queen  ! " 
was  the  cry  that  one  day  startled  Christie  as  she  sat 
thinking  anxiously,  while  sewing  mock-pearls  on  a 
crown  for  Mrs.  Black. 

Looking  up  she  saw  Lucy  just  home  from  rehearsal, 
going  through  a  series  of  pantomimic  evolutions  sug- 
gestive of  a  warrior  doing  battle  with  incredible  valor, 
and  a  very  limited  knowledge  of  the  noble  art  of  self- 
defence. 

"  What  have  you  got  ?  Who  is  the  queen  ? "  she 
asked,  laughing,  as  the  breathless  hero  lowered  her 
umbrella,  and  laid  her  bonnet  at  Christie's  feet. 

"  You  are  to  be  the  Queen  of  the  Amazons  in  our 
new  spectacle,  at  half  a  dollar  a  night  for  six  or  eight 
weeks,  if  the  piece  goes  well." 

"  No  !  "  cried  Christie,  with  a  gasp. 


36  WOBK. 

"  Yes ! "  cried  Lucy,  clapping  her  hands ;  and  then 
she  proceeded  to  tell  her  news  wdth  theatrical  volubil- 
ity. "  Mr.  Sharp,  the  manager,  wants  a  lot  of  tallish 
girls,  and  I  told  him  I  knew  of  a  perfect  dear.  He 
said  :  *  Bring  her  on,  then,'  and  I  flew  home  to  tell  you. 
Now,  don't  look  wild,  and  say  no.  You  've  only  got  to 
sing  in  one  chorus,  march  in  the  gi-and  procession,  and 
lead  your  band  in  the  terrific  battle-scene.  The  dress 
is  splendid  !  Red  tunic,  tiger-skin  over  shoulder,  helmet, 
shield,  lance,  fleshings,  sandals,  hair  down,  and  as  much 
cork  to  your  eyebrows  as  you  like." 

Christie  certainly  did  look  wild,  for  Lucy  had  burst 
into  the  room  like  a  small  hurricane,  and  her  rapid 
words  rattled  about  the  listeners'  ears  as  if  a  hail-storm 
had  followed  the  gust.  While  Christie  still  sat  with 
her  mouth  open,  too  bewildered  to  reply,  Mrs.  Black 
said  in  her  cosey  voice  : 

"Try  it,  me  dear,  it's  just  what  you'll  enjoy,  and  a 
capital  beginning  I  assure  ye ;  for  if  you  do  well  old 
Sharp  will  want  you  again,  and  then,  when  some  one 
slips  out  of  the  company,  you  can  slip  in,  and  there  you 
are  quite  comfortable.  Try  it,  me  dear,  and  if  you 
don't  like  it  drop  it  when  the  piece  is  over,  and  there 's 
no  harm  done." 

"  It 's  much  easier  and  jollier  than  any  of  the  things 
you  are  after.  We  '11  stand  by  you  like  bricks,  and  in  a 
•yveek  you  '11  say  it 's  the  best  lark  you  ever  had  in  your 
life.  Don't  be  prim,  now,  but  say  yes,  like  a  trump,  as 
you  are,"  added  Lucy,  waving  a  pink  satin  train  tempt- 
ingly before  her  friend. 

"  I  will  try  it,"  said  Christie,  with  sudden  decision, 
feeling  that  something  entirely  new  and  absorbing  was 


ACTRESS.  37 

what  she  needed  to  expend  the  vigor,  romance,  and 
entliusiasm  of  lier  youth  upon. 

With  a  shriek  of  deUght  Lucy  swept  her  off  her 
chair,  and  twirled  her  about  the  room  as  excitable 
young  h\dies  are  fond  of  doing  when  their  joyful  emo- 
tions need  a  vent.  When  both  were  giddy  they  sub- 
sided into  a  corner  and  a  breathless  discussion  of  the 
important  step. 

Though  she  had  consented,  Christie  had  endless 
doubts  and  fears,  but  Lucy  removed  many  of  the  former, 
and  her  own  desire  for  pleasant  employment  conquered 
many  of  the  latter.  In  her  most  despairing  moods  she 
had  never  thought  of  trying  this.  Uncle  Enos  consid- 
ered "  play-actin' "  as  the  sum  of  all  iniquity.  What 
would  he  say  if  she  went  calmly  to  destruction  bj^  that 
road  ?  Sad  to  relate,  this  recollection  rather  strength- 
ened her  purpose,  for  a  delicious  sense  of  fi^eedom  j^er- 
vaded  her  soul,  and  the  old  defiant  spirit  seemed  to  rise 
up  within  her  at  the  memory  of  her  Uncle's  grim 
prophecies  and  narrow  views. 

"  Lucy  is  happy,  virtuous,  and  independent,  why  can't 
I  be  so  too  if  I  have  any  talent  ?  It  isn't  exactly  what 
I  should  choose,  but  any  thing  honest  is  better  than 
idleness.  I'll  try  it  any  way,  and  get  a  little  fun,  even 
if  I  don't  make  much  money  or  glory  out  of  it." 

So  Christie  held  to  her  resolution  in  spite  of  many 
secret  misgivings,  and  followed  Mrs.  Black's  advice  on 
all  points  with  a  docility  which  caused  that  sanguine 
lady  to  predict  that  she  would  be  a  star  before  she 
knew  where  she  was. 

"  Is  this  the  stage  ?  How  dusty  and  dull  it  is  by 
daylight  I  "  said  Christie  next  day,  as  she  stood  by  Lucy 


38  WORK. 

on  the  very  spot  where  she  had  seen  Hamlet  die  in 
great  anguish  two  nights  before. 

"  Bless  you,  child,  it 's  in  curl-papers  now,  as  I  am  of 
a  morning.     Mr.  Sharp,  here  's  an  Amazon  for  you." 

As  she  spoke,  Lucy  hurried  across  the  stage,  followed 
by  Christie,  wearing  any  thing  but  an  Amazonian 
expression  just  then. 

"  Ever  on  before  ? "  abruptly  asked  a  keen-faced, 
little  man,  glancing  with  an  experienced  eye  at  the 
young  person  who  stood  before  him  bathed  in  blushes. 

«  No,  sir." 

"  Do  you  sing  ?  " 

"  A  little,  sir." 

"  Dance,  of  course  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Just  take  a  turn  across  the  stage,  will  you  ?  Must 
walk  well  to  lead  a  march." 

As  she  went,  Chiistie  heard  Mr.  Sharp  taking  notes 
audibly : 

"  Good  tread ;  capital  figure ;  fine  eye.  She  '11  make 
up  well,  and  behave  herself,  I  fancy." 

A  strong  desire  to  make  off  seized  the  girl ;  but, 
remembering  that  she  had  presented  herself  for  inspec- 
tion, she  controlled  the  impulse,  and  returned  to  him 
with  no  demonstration  of  displeasure,  but  a  little  more 
fire  in  "  the  fine  eye,"  and  a  more  erect  carriage  of  the 
"capital  figure." 

"  All  right,  my  dear.  Give  your  name  to  Mr.  Tripp, 
and  your  mind  to  the  business,  and  consider  yourself 
engaged,"  —  with  which  satisfactory  remark  the  little 
man  vanished  like  a  ghost. 

"  Lucy,  did  you  hear  that  impertinent  *  my  dear '  ?  " 


ACTRESS.  39 

asked  Christie,  wliose  sense  of  propriety  had  received 
its  first  sliock. 

"Lord,  child,  all  managers  do  it.  They  don't  mean 
any  thing ;  so  be  resigned,  and  thank  your  stars  he 
didn't  say  '  love '  and  '  darling,'  and  kiss  you,  as  old 
Vining  used  to,"  was  all  the  sympathy  she  got. 

Having  obeyed  orders,  Lucy  initiated  her  into  the 
mysteries  of  the  place,  and  then  put  her  in  a  corner  to 
look  over  the  scenes  in  which  she  was  to  appear.  Chris- 
tie soon  caught  the  idea  of  her  part,  —  not  a  difficult 
matter,  as  there  were  but  ^qw  ideas  in  the  whole  piece, 
after  which  she  sat  watching  the  arrival  of  the  troop 
she  was  to  lead.  A  most  forlorn  band  of  warriors  they 
seemed,  huddled  together,  and  looking  as  if  afraid  to 
speak,  lest  they  should  infringe  some  rule  ;  or  to  move, 
lest  they  be  swallowed  up  by  some  unsuspected  trap- 
door. 

Presently  the  ballet-master  appeared,  the  orchestra 
struck  up,  and  Christie  found  herself  marching  and 
counter-marching  at  word  of  command.  At  first,  a 
most  uncomfortable  sense  of  the  absurdity  of  her  posi- 
tion oppressed  and  confused  her;  then  the  ludicrous 
contrast  between  the  solemn  anxiety  of  the  troop  and 
the  fantastic  evolutions  they  were  performing  amused 
her  till  the  novelty  wore  off;  the  martial  music  excited 
her;  the  desire  to  please  sharpened  her  wits;  and 
natural  grace  made  it  easy  for  her  to  catch  and  copy 
the  steps  and  poses  given  her  to  imitate.  Soon  she 
forgot  herself,  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing,  and 
exerted  every  sense  to  please,  so  successfully  that  Mr. 
Tripp  praised  her  quickness  at  comprehension,  Lucy 
applauded  heartily  from  a  fairy  car,  and  Mr.  Sharp 


40  WOBK. 

popped  his  head  out  of  a  palace  window  to  watch  the 
Amazon's  descent  from  the  Mountains  of  the  Moon. 

When  the  regular  company  arrived,  the  troop  was 
dismissed  till  the  progress  of  the  play  demanded  their 
reappearance.  Much  interested  in  the  piece,  Christie 
stood  aside  under  a  palm-tree,  the  foliage  of  which  was 
strongly  suggestive  of  a  dilapidated  green  umbrella, 
enjoying  the  novel  sights   and  sounds  about  her. 

Yellow-faced  gentlemen  and  sleepy-eyed  ladies  roamed 
languidly  about  with  much  incoherent  jabbering  of 
parts,  and  frequent  explosions  of  laughter.  Princes, 
with  varnished  boots  and  suppressed  cigars,  fought, 
bled,  and  died,  without  a  change  of  countenance. 
Damsels  of  unparalleled  beauty,  according  to  the  text, 
gaped  in  the  faces  of  adoring  lovers,  and  crocheted 
serenely  on  the  brink  of  annihilation.  Fairies,  in  rub- 
ber-boots and  woollen  head-gear,  disported  themselves 
on  flowery  barks  of  canvas,  or  were  suspended  aloft 
with  hooks  in  their  backs  like  young  Hindoo  devotees. 
Demons,  guiltless  of  hoof  or  honi,  clutched  their  victims 
with  the  inevitable  "  Ha !  ha ! "  and  vanished  darkly, 
eating  pea-nuts.  The  ubiquitous  Mr.  Sharp  seemed  to 
pervade  the  whole  theatre ;  for  his  voice  came  shrilly 
from  above  or  spectrally  from  below,  and  his  active 
little  figure  darted  to  and  fro  like  a  critical  will-o-the- 
wisp. 

The  grand  march  and  chorus  in  the  closing  scene 
were  easily  accomplished  ;  for,  as  Lucy  bade  her,  Chris- 
tie "  sung  with  all  her  might,"  and  kept  step  as  she  led 
her  band  with  the  dignity  of  a  Boadicea.  X6  one 
spoke  to  her;  few  observed  her;  all  were  intent  on 
then*  own  afltos;  and  when  the  final  shriek  and  bang 


ACTRESS.  41 

died  away  without  lifting  the  roof  by  its  din,  she  could 
hardly  believe  that  the  dreaded  first  rehearsal  was 
safely  over. 

A  visit  to  the  wardrobe-room  to  see  her  dress  came 
next ;  and  here  Christie  had  a  slight  skirmish  with  the 
mistress  of  that  department  relative  to  the  length  of 
her  classical  garments.  As  studies  from  the  nude  had 
not  yet  become  one  of  the  amusements  of  the  elite  of 
Little  Babel,  Christie  was  not  required  to  appear  in  the 
severe  simplicity  of  a  costume  consisting  of  a  necklace, 
sandals,  and  a  bit  of  gold  fringe  about  the  waist,  but 
was  allowed  an  extra  inch  or  two  on  her  tunic,  and 
departed,  much  comforted  by  the  assurance  that  her 
dress  would  not  be  "a  shock  to  modesty,"  as  Lucy 
expressed  it. 

"  Now,  look  at  yourself,  and,  for  my  sake,  prove  an 
honor  to  your  country  and  a  terror  to  the  foe,"  said 
Lucy,  as  she  led  her  jyrotegee  before  the  green-room 
mirror  on  the  first  night  of  "  The  Demon's  Daughter, 
or  The  Castle  of  the  Sun ! !  The  most  Magnificent 
Spectacle  ever  produced  upon  the  American  Stage ! ! !  " 

Christie  looked,  and  saw  a  warlike  figure  with  glitter- 
ing helmet,  shield  and  lance,  streaming  hair  and  savage 
cloak.  She  liked  the  picture,  for  there  was  much  of 
the  heroic  spirit  in  the  girl,  and  even  this  poor  coun- 
terfeit pleased  her  eye  and  filled  her  fancy  with 
martial  memories  of  Joan  of  Arc,  Zenobia,  and  Brito- 
marte. 

"  Go  to !  "  cried  Lucy,  who  affected  theatrical  modes 
of  speech.  "  Don't  admire  yourself  any  longer,  but  tie 
up  your  sandals  and  come  on.  Be  sure  you  rush  down 
the  instant  I  cry, '  Demon,  I  defy  thee  ! '     Don't  break 


42 


WORK. 


your  Deck,  or  pick  your  way  like  a  cat  in  wet  weather, 
but  come  with  effect^  for  I  want  that  scene  to  make  a 
hit." 


Christie  as  Queen  of  the  Amazons. 

Princess  Caremfil  swept  away,  and  the  Amazonian 
queen  cUmbed  to  her  perch  among  the  painted  moun- 
tains, where  her  troop  ah'eady  sat  Hke  a  flock  of  pigeons 
shining  in  the  sun.  The  gilded  breast-plate  rose  and 
fell  with  the  quick  beating  of  her  heart,  the  spear  shook 
mth  the  trembling  of  her  hand,  her  lips  were  dry,  her 
head  dizzy,  and  more  than  once,  as  she  waited  for  her 
cue,  she  was  sorely  tempted  to  run  away  and  take  the 
consequences. 

But  the  thought  of  Lucy's  good-will  and  confidence 
kept  her,  and  when  the  cry  came  she  answered  with  a 


ACTRESS,  43 

ringing  shout,  rushed  down  the  ten-foot  precipice,  and 
cliarged  upon  the  foe  with  an  energy  that  inspired  her 
followers,  and  quite  satisfied  the  princess  strugghng  in 
the  demon's  grasp. 

With  clashing  of  arms  and  shrill  war-cries  the  rescu- 
ers of  innocence  assailed  the  sooty  fiends  who  fell  before 
their  unscientific  blows  with  a  rapidity  which  inspired 
in  the  minds  of  beholders  a  suspicion  that  the  goblins' 
own  voluminous  tails  tripped  them  up  and  gallantry 
kept  them  prostrate.  As  the  last  groan  ^expired,  the 
last  agonized  squirm  subsided,  the  conquerors  per- 
formed the  intricate  dance  with  which  it  appears  the 
Amazons  were  wont  to  celebrate  their  victories.  Then 
the  scene  closed  with  a  glare  of  red  light  and  a  "  grand 
tableau "  of  the  martial  queen  standing  in  a  bower  of 
lances,  the  rescued  princess  gracefully  fainting  in  her 
arms,  and  the  vanquished  demon  scowling  fiercely 
under  her  foot,  while  four-and-twenty  dishevelled  dam- 
sels sang  a  song  of  exultation,  to  the  barbaric  music  of 
a  tattoo  on  their  shields. 

All  went  well  that  night,  and  when  at  last  the  girls 
doffed  crow^n  and  helmet,  they  confided  to  one  another 
the  firm  opinion  that  the  success  of  the  piece  was  in  a 
great  measure  owing  to  their  talent,  their  exertions, 
and  went  gaily  home  predicting  for  themselves  careers 
as  brilliant  as  those  of  Siddons  and  Rachel. 

It  would  be  a  pleasant  task  to  paint  the  vicissitudes 
and  victories  of  a  successful  actress ;  but  Christie  was 
no  dramatic  genius  bom  to  shine  before  the  world  and 
leave  a  name  behind  her.  She  had  no  talent  except 
that  which  may  be  developed  in  any  girl  possessing 
the   lively   fancy,  sympathetic   nature,   and   ambitious 


44  WORK. 

spirit  which  make  such  girls  naturally  dramatic.  Tliis 
was  to  be  only  one  of  many  experiences  which  were  to 
show  her  her  own  weakness  and  strength,  and  through 
effort,  pain,  and  disappointment  fit  her  to  play  a  nobler 
part  on  a  wider  stage. 

For  a  few  weeks  Christie's  illusions  lasted  ;  then  she 
discovered  that  the  new  life  was  nearly  as  humdrum  as 
the  old,  that  her  companions  were  ordinary  men  and 
women,  and  her  bright  hopes  were  growing  as  dim  as 
her  tarnished  shield.  She  grew  unutterably  weary  of 
« The  Castle  of  the  Sun,"  and  found  the  "  Demon's 
Daughter"  an  unmitigated  bore.  She  was  not  tired  of 
the  profession,  only  dissatisfied  with  the  place  she  held 
in  it,  and  eager  to  attempt  a  part  that  gave  some  scope 
for  power  and  j^assion. 

Mrs.  Black  wisely  reminded  her  that  she  must  learn 
to  use  her  wings  before  she  tried  to  fly,  and  comforted 
her  with  stories  of  celebrities  who  had  begun  as  she 
was  beginning,  yet  who  had  suddenly  burst  from  their 
grub-like  obscurity  to  adorn  the  world  as  splendid 
butterflies. 

"  We  '11  stand  by  you.  Kit ;  so  keep  up  your  courage, 
and  do  your  best.  Be  clever  to  every  one  in  general, 
old  Sharp  in  particular,  and  when  a  chance  comes,  have 
your  wdts  about  jou  and  grab  it.  That 's  the  way  to 
get  on,"  said  Lucy,  as  sagely  as  if  she  had  been  a  star 
for  years. 

"  If  I  had  beauty  I  should  stand  a  better  chance," 
sighed  Christie,  surveying  herself  with  great  disfavor, 
quite  unconscious  that  to  a  cultivated  eye  the  soul  of 
beauty  was  often  visible  in  that  face  of  hers,  with  its 
intelligent  eyes,  sensitive  mouth,  and  fine  lines  about 


ACTRESS.  45 

the  forehead,  making  it  a  far  more  significant  and 
attractive  countenance  than  that  of  her  friend,  pos- 
sessing only  piquant  prettiness. 

"  Never  mind,  child  ;  you  've  got  a  lovely  figure,  and 
an  actress's  best  feature,  —  fine  eyes  and  eyebrows.  I 
heard  old  Kent  say  so,  and  he 's  a  judge.  So  make  the 
best  of  what  you  've  got,  as  I  do,"  answered  Lucy, 
glancing  at  her  own  comely  little  person  with  an  air  of 
perfect  resignation. 

Christie  laughed  at  the  adviser,  but  wisely  took  the 
advice,  and,  though  she  fretted  in  private,  was  cheerful 
and  alert  in  public.  Always  modest,  attentive,  and 
obliging,  she  soon  became  a  favorite  with  her  mates, 
and,  thanks  to  Lucy's  good  offices  with  Mr.  Sharp, 
whose  favorite  she  was,  Christie  got  promoted  sooner 
than  she  otherwise  would  have  been. 

A  great  Christmas  spectacle  was  brought  out  the 
next  season,  and  Christie  had  a  good  part  in  it.  When 
that  was  over  she  thought  there  was  no  hope  for  her, 
as  the  regular  company  was  full  and  a  different  sort  of 
performance  was  to  begin.  But  just  then  her  chance 
came,  and  she  "  grabbed  it."  The  first  soubrette  died 
suddenly,  and  in  the  emergency  Mr.  Shai-p  offered  the 
place  to  Christie  till  he  could  fill  it  to  his  mind.  Lucy 
was  second  soubrette,  and  had  hoped  for  this  promo- 
tion ;  but  Lucy  did  not  sing  well.  Christie  had  a  good 
voice,  had  taken  lessons  and  much  improved  of  late, 
so  she  had  the  preference  and  resolved  to  stand  the  test 
so  well  that  this  temporary  elevation  should  become 
permanent. 

She  did  her  best,  and  though  many  of  the  parts  w^ere 
distasteful  to  her  she  got  through  them  successfully. 


46    -  WOBK. 

while  now  and  then  she  had  one  which  she  thoroughly- 
enjoyed.  Her  Tilly  Slowboy  was  a  hit,  and  a  proud 
girl  was  Christie  when  Kent,  the  comedian,  congratu- 
lated her  on  it,  and  told  her  he  had  seldom  seen  it 
better  done. 

To  find  favor  in  Kent's  eyes  was  an  honor  indeed,  for 
he  belonged  to  the  old  school,  and  rarely  condescended 
to  praise  modern  actors.  His  own  style  was  so  admi- 
rable that  he  was  justly  considered  the  first  comedian 
in  the  country,  and  was  the  pride  and  mainstay  of  the 
old  theatre  where  he  had  played  for  years.  Of  course 
he  possessed  much  influence  in  that  little  world,  and 
being  a  kindly  man  used  it  generously  to  help  up  any 
young  aspirant  who  seemed  to  him  deserving. 

He  had  observed  Christie,  attracted  by  her  intelli- 
gent face  and  modest  manners,  for  in  spite  of  her  youth 
there  was  a  native  refinement  about  her  that  made  it 
impossible  for  her  to  romp  and  flirt  as  some  of  her 
mates  did.  But  till  she  played  Tilly  he  had  not  thought 
she  possessed  any  talent.  That  pleased  him,  and  seeing 
how  much  she  valued  his  praise,  and  was  flattered  by 
his  notice,  he  gave  her  the  wise  but  unpalatable  advice 
always  offered  young  actors.  Finding  that  she  accepted 
it,  was  willing  to  study  hard,  work  faithfully,  and  wait 
patiently,  he  predicted  that  in  time  she  w^ould  make  a 
clever  actress,  never  a  great  one. 

Of  course  Christie  thought  he  was  mistaken,  and 
secretly  resolved  to  prove  him  a  false  prophet  by  the 
triumphs  of  her  career.  But  she  meekly  bowed  to  his 
opinion  ;  this  docility  pleased  him,  and  he  took  a  pater- 
nal sort  of  interest  in  her,  which,  coming  from  the  pow- 
erful favorite,  did  her  good  service  with  the  higher 


ACTRESS.  47 

powers,  and  helped  her  on  more  rapidly  than  years  of 
meritorious  effort. 

Toward  the  end  of  that  second  season  several  of 
Dickens's  dramatized  novels  were  played,  and  Christie 
earned  fresh  laurels.  She  loved  those  books,  and 
seemed  by  instinct  to  understand  and  persoyate  the 
humor  and  pathos  of  many  of  those  grotesque  creations. 
BeUeving  she  had  little  beauty  to  sacrifice,  she  dressed 
such  parts  to  the  life,  and  played  them  with  a  spirit 
and  ease  that  surprised  those  who  had  considered  her 
a  dignified  and  rather  dull  young  person. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  it  is,  Sharp,  that  girl  is  going  to 
make  a  capital  character  actress.  When  her  parts  suit, 
she  forgets  herself  entirely  and  does  admirably  well. 
Her  Miggs  was  nearly  the  death  of  me  to-night.  She 's 
got  that  one  gift,  and  it 's  a  good  one.  You  'd  better 
give  her  a  chance,  for  I  think  she  '11  be  a  credit  to  the 
old  concern." 

Kent  said  that,  —  Christie  heard  it,  and  flew  to  Lucy, 
waving  Miggs's  cap  for  joy  as  she  told  the  news. 

"  What  did  Mr.  Sharp  say  ? "  asked  Lucy,  turning 
round  with  her  face  half  "  made  up." 

"  He  merely  said  '  Hum,'  and  smiled.  Wasn't  that  a 
good  sign  ?  "  said  Christie,  anxiously. 

"  Can't  say,"  and  Lucy  touched  up  her  eyebrows  as 
if  she  took  no  interest  in  the  affair. 

Christie's  face  fell,  and  her  heart  sunk  at  the  thought 
of  failure ;  but  she  kept  up  her  spirits  by  working 
harder  than  ever,  and  soon  had  her  reward.  Mr. 
Sharp's  "  Hum  "  did  mean  yes,  and  the  next  season  she 
was  regularly  engaged,  with  a  salary  of  thirty  dollars 
a  week. 


48  WORK. 

It  was  a  grand  step,  and  knowing  that  she  owed  it  to 
Kent,  Christie  did  her  utmost  to  show  that  she  deserved 
his  good  opinion.  New  trials  and  temptations  beset 
her  now,  but  hard  work  and  an  innocent  nature  kept 
her  safe  and  busy.  Obstacles  only  spurred  her  on  to 
redoubled  exertion,  and  whether  she  did  well  or  ill,  was 
praised  or  blamed,  she  found  a  never-failing  excitement 
in  her  attempts  to  reach  the  standard  of  perfection  -she 
had  set  up  for  herself.  Kent  did  not  regret  his  j^atron- 
age.  Mr.  Sharp  was  satisfied  with  the  success  of  the 
experiment,  and  Christie  soon  became  a  favorite  in  a 
small  way,  because  behind  the  actress  the  public  always 
saw  a  woman  who  never  "  forgot  the  modesty  of 
nature." 

But  as  she  grew  prosperous  in  outward  things,  Chris- 
tie found  herself  burdened  with  a  private  cross  that 
tried  her  very  much.  Lucy  was  no  longer  her  friend ; 
something  had  come  between  them,  and  a  steadily 
increasing  coldness  took  the  place  of  the  confidence 
and  affection  which  had  once  existed.  Lucy  was  jeal- 
ous for  Christie  had  passed  her  in  the  race.  She  knew 
she  could  not  fill  the  place  Christie  had  gained  by 
favor,  and  now  held  by  her  own  exertions,  still  she  was 
bitterly  envious,  though  ashamed  to  own  it. 

Christie  tried  to  be  just  and  gentle,  to  prove  her 
gratitude  to  her  first  friend,  and  to  show  that  her  heart 
was  unchanged.  But  she  failed  to  win  Lucy  back  and 
felt  herself  injured  by  such  unjust  resentment.  Mrs. 
Black  took  her  daughter's  part,  and  though  they  pre- 
served the  peace  outwardly  the  old  friendliness  was 
quite  gone. 

Hoping  to  forget  this  trouble  in  excitement  Christie 


ACTRESS.  49 

gave  herself  entirely  to  her  profession,  finding  in  it  a 
satisfaction  which  for  a  time  consoled  her. 

But  gradually  she  underwent  the  sorrowful  change 
which  comes  to  strong  natures  when  they  wrong  them- 
selves through  ignorance  or  wilfulness. 

Pride  and  native  integrity  kept  her  from  the  worst 
temptations  of  such  a  life,  but  to  the  lesser  ones  she 
yielded,  growing  selfish,  frivolous,  and  vain,  —  intent  on 
her  own  advancement,  and  careless  by  what  means  she 
reached  it.  She  had  no  thought  now  beyond  her  art, 
no  desire  beyond  the  commendation  of  those  whose 
opinion  tvas  serviceable,  no  care  for  any  one  but  her- 
self 

Her  love  of  admiration  grew  by  what  it  fed  on,  till 
the  sound  of  applause  became  the  sweetest  music  to 
her  ear.  She  rose  with  this  hope,  lay  down  with  this 
satisfaction,  and  month  after  month  passed  in  this  fever- 
ish life,  with  no  Avish  to  change  it,  but  a  growing  appe- 
tite for  its  unsatisfactory  delights,  an  ever-increasing 
forgetfulness  of  any  higher  aspiration  than  dramatic 
fame. 

"  Give  me  joy,  Lucy,  I  'm  to  have  a  benefit  next 
week  !  Everybody  else  has  had  one,  and  I  've  played 
for  them  all,  so  no  one  seemed  to  begrudge  me  my  turn 
when  dear  old  Kent  proposed  it,"  said  Christie,  coming 
in  one  night  still  flushed  and  excited  with  the  good 
news. 

"  What  shall  you  have  ?  "  asked  Lucy,  trying  to  look 
j)leased,  and  failing  decidedly. 

"  '  Masks  and  Faces.'  I  've  always  wanted  to  play  Peg. 
and  it  has  good  parts  for  you  and  Kent,  and  St.  George. 

3  D 


50  WORK. 

I  chose  it  for  thnt  reason,  for  I  shall  need  all  the  help 
I  can  get  to  pull  me  through,  I  dare  say." 

The  smile  vanished  entirely  at  this  speech,  and  Chris- 
tie was  suddenly  seized  with  a  suspicion  that  Lucy  was 
not  only  jealous  of  her  as  an  actress,  but  as  a  woman. 
St.  George  was  a  comely  young  actor  who  usually 
played  lovers'  parts  with  Christie,  and  played  them 
very  well,  too,  being  possessed  of  much  talent,  and  a 
gentleman.  They  had  never  thought  of  falling  in  love 
with  each  other,  though  St.  George  wooed  and  won 
Christie  night  after  night  in  vaudeville  and  farce.  But 
it  was  very  easy  to  imagine  that  so  much  mock  passion 
had  a  basis  of  truth,  and  Lucy  evidently  tormented 
herself  with  this  belief 

"  Why  didn't  you  choose  Juhet :  St.  George  would 
do  Romeo  so  well?"  said  Lucy,  with  a  sneer. 

"No,  that  is  beyond  me.  Kent  says  Shakespeare 
will  never  be  ray  line,  and  I  believe  him.  I  should 
think  you  'd  be  satisfied  with  '  Masks  and  Faces,'  for  you 
know  Mabel  gets  her  husband  safely  back  in  the  end," 
answered  Christie,  watching  the  effect  of  her  words. 

"  As  if  I  wanted  the  man  !  No,  thank  you,  other 
people's  leavings  won't  suit  me,"  cried  Lucy,  tossing 
her  head,  though  her  face  belied  her  words. 

"  Not  even  though  he  has  '  hearenly  eyes,'  *  distract- 
ing legs,'  and  '  a  melting  voice  ?  ' "  asked  Christie  mali- 
ciously, quoting  Lucy 's  own  rapturous  speeches  when 
the  new  actor  came. 

"  Come,  come,  girls,  don't  quarrel.  I  won't  'ave  it  in 
me  room.  Lucy 's  tired  to  death,  and  it 's  not  nice  of 
you,  Kitty,  to  come  and  crow  over  her  this  way,"  said 


ACTRESS.  51 

Mamma  Black,  coming  to  the  rescue,  for  Lucy  was  in 
tears,  and  Cliristie  looking  dangerous. 

"  It 's  impossible  to  please  you,  so  I  '11  say  good-niglit," 
and  Christie  went  to  her  room  with  resentment  burn- 
ing hotly  in  her  heart. 

As  she  crossed  the  chamber  her  eye  fell  on  her  own 
figure  reflected  in  the  long  glass,  and  with  a  sudden 
impulse  she  turned  up  the  gas,  wiped  the  rouge  from 
her  cheeks,  pushed  back  her  hair,  and  studied  her  own 
face  intently  for  several  moments.  It  was  pale  and 
jaded  now,  and  all  its  fi-eshness  seemed  gone;  hard 
lines  had  come  about  the  mouth,  a  feverish  disquiet 
filled  the  eyes,  and  on  the  forehead  seemed  to  He  the 
shadow  of  a  discontent  that  saddened  the  whole  face. 
If  one  could  believe  the  testimony  of  that  countenance 
things  were  not  going  well  with  Christie,  and  she 
owned  it  with  a  regretful  sigh,  as  she  asked  herself, 
"  Am  I  what  I  hoped  I  should  be  ?  No,  and  it  is  my 
fault.  If  three  years  of  this  life  have  made  me  this, 
what  shall  I  be  in  ten  ?  A  fine  actress  perhaps,  but 
how  good  a  woman  ?  " 

With  gloomy  eyes  fixed  on  her  altered  face  she  stood 
a  moment  struggling  with  herself  Then  the  hard  look 
returned,  and  she  spoke  out  defiantly,  as  if  in  answer 
to  some  warning  voice  within  herself  "  No  one  cares 
what  I  am,  so  why  care  myself?  "Why  not  go  on  and 
get  as  much  fame  as  I  can  ?  Success  gives  me  power 
if  it  cannot  give  me  happiness,  and  I  must  have  some 
reward  for  my  hard  work.  Yes !  a  gay  life  and  a  short 
one,  then  out  with  the  lights  and  down  with  the 
curtain ! " 

But  in  spite  of  her  reckless  words  Christie  sobbed 


52  WORK. 

herself  to  sleep  that  night  like  a  child  who  knows  it  is 
astray,  yet  cannot  see  the  right  path  or  hear  its  mother's 
voice  calling  it  home. 

On  the  night  of  the  benefit,  Lucy  was  in  a  most  exas- 
perating mood,  Christie  in  a  very  indignant  one,  and 
as  they  entered  their  dressing-room  they  looked  as  if 
they  might  have  played  tho  Rival  Queens  with  great 
effect.  Lucy  offered  no  help  and  Christie  asked  none, 
but  putting  her  vexation  resolutely  out  of  sight  fixed 
her  mind  on  the  task  before  her. 

As  the  pleasant  stir  began  all  about  her,  actress-like, 
she  felt  her  spirits  rise,  her  courage  increase  with  every 
curl  she  fastened  up,  every  gay  garment  she  put  on, 
and  soon  smiled  approvingly  at  herself,  for  excitement 
lent  her  cheeks  a  better  color  than  rouge,  lier  eyes 
shone  with  satisfaction,  and  her  heart  beat  high  with 
the  resolve  to  make  a  hit  or  die. 

Christie  needed  encouragement  that  night,  and  found 
it  in  the  hearty  welcome  that  greeted  her,  and  the  full 
house,  which  j^roved  how  kind  a  regard  was  entertained 
for  her  by  many  who  knew  her  only  by  a  fictitious 
name.  She  felt  this  deeply,  and  it  helped  her  much, 
for  she  was  vexed  with  many  trials  those  before  the 
footlights  knew  nothing  of 

The  other  players  were  full  of  kindly  interest  in  her 
success,  but  Lucy  took  a  naughty  satisfaction  in  har- 
assing her  by  all  the  small  slights  and  unanswerable 
provocations  which  one  actress  has  it  in  her  power  to 
inflict  upon  another. 

Christie  was  fretted  almost  beyond  endurance,  and 
retaliated  by  an  ominous  frown  when  her  position 
allowed,  threatening  asides  when  a  moment's  by-play 


ACTRESS.  53 

favored  their  delivery,  and  angry  protests  whenever 
she  met  Lucy  oif  the  stage. 

But  in  spite  of  all  annoyances  she  had  never  played 
better  in  her  life.  She  liked  the  part,  and  acted  the 
warm-hearted,  quick-witted,  sharp-tongued  Peg  with 
a  spirit  and  grace  that  surprised  even  those  who  knew 
her  best.  Especially  good  was  she  in  the  scenes  with 
Triplet,  for  Kent  played  the  part  admirably,  and  cheered 
her  on  with  many  an  encouraging  look  and  word. 
Anxious  to  do  honor  to  her  patron  and  friend  she 
threw  her  whole  heart  into  the  work ;  in  the  scene 
where  she  comes  like  a  good  angel  to  the  home  of  the 
poor  play-wright,  she  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of  her 
audience ;  and  when  at  her  command  Triplet  strikes 
up  a  jig  to  amuse  the  children  she  "covered  the 
buckle "  in  gallant  style,  dancing  with  all  the  frolic- 
some abandon  of  the  Irish  orange-girl  who  for  a 
moment  forgot  her  grandeur  and  her  grief. 

That  scene  was  her  best,  for  it  is  full  of  those  touches 
of  nature  that  need  very  little  art  to  make  them  effec- 
tive ;  and  when  a  great  bouquet  fell  with  a  thump  at 
Christie's  feet,  as  she  paused  to  bow  her  thanks  for  an 
encore,  she  felt  that  she  had  reached  the  height  of 
earthly  bliss. 

In  the  studio  scene  Lucy  seemed  suddenly  gifted 
with  unsuspected  skill ;  for  when  Mabel  kneels  to  the 
picture,  praying  her  rival  to  give  her  back  her  husband's 
heart,  Christie  was  amazed  to  see  real  tears  roll  down 
Lucy's  cheeks,  and  to  hear  real  love  and  longing  thrill 
her  trembling  words  with  sudden  power  and  passion; 

"  That  is  not  acting.  She  does  love  St.  George,  and 
thinks  I  mean  to  keep  him  from  her.     Poor  dear !     I  '11 


54  WOIiK. 

tell  her  all  about  it  to-night,  and  set  her  heart  at  rest," 
thought  Christie;  and  when  Peg  left  the  frame,  her 
face  ex-pressed  the  genuine  pity  that  she  felt,  and  her 
voice  was  beautifully  tender  as  she  promised  to  restore 
the  stolen  treasure. 

Lucy  felt  comforted  without  knowing  why,  and  the 
piece  went  smoothly  on  to  its  last  scene.  Peg  was 
just  relinquishing  the  repentant  husband  to  his  forgiv- 
inir  wife  with  those  brave  words  of  hers,  wiien  a  rend- 
ing  sound  above  their  heads  made  all  look  up  and  start 
back ;  all  but  Lucy,  who  stood  bewildered.  Christie's 
quick  eye  saw  the  impending  danger,  and  with  a  sud- 
den spring  she  caught  her  friend  from  it.  It  was  only 
a  second's  work,  but  it  cost  her  much ;  for  in  the  act, 
down  crashed  one  of  the  mechanical  contrivances  used 
in  a  late  spectacle,  and  in  its  f\\ll  stretched  Christie 
stunned  and  senseless  on  the  stage. 

A  swift  uprising  filled  the  house  with  tumult ;  a 
crowd  of  actors  hurried  forward,  and  the  panic-stricken 
audience  caught  glimpses  of  poor  Peg  lying  mute  and 
pallid  in  Mabel's  arms,  while  Vane  wrung  his  hands, 
and  Triplet  audibly  demanded,  "  Why  the  devil  some- 
body didn't  go  for  a  doctor?" 

Then  a  brilliant  view  of  Mount  Parnassus,  with 
Apollo  and  the  Nine  Muses  in  full  blast,  shut  the  scene 
from  sight,  and  soon  Mr.  Sharp  appeared  to  ask  their 
patience  till  the  after-piece  was  ready,  for  Miss  Douglas 
w^as  too  much  injured  to  appear  again.  And  with  an 
unwonted  expression  of  feeling,  the  little  man  alluded 
to  "  the  generous  act  which  perhaps  had  changed  the 
comedy  to  a  tragedy  and  robbed  the  beneficiary  of  her 
well-earned  reward  at  their  hands." 


ACTBESS.  65 

All  had  seen  the  impulsive  spring  toward,  not  from, 
the  danger,  and  this  unpremeditated  action  won  heart- 
ier applause  than  Christie  ever  had  received  for  her 
best  rendering  of  more  heroic  deeds. 

But  she  did  not  hear  the  cordial  round  they  gave 
her.  She  had  said  she  would  "  make  a  hit  or  die ; " 
and  just  then  it  seemed  as  if  she  had  done  both,  for 
she  was  deaf  and  blind  to  the  admiration  and  the 
sympathy  bestowed  upon  her  as  the  curtain  fell  on  the 
first,  last  benefit  she  ever  was  to  have. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

GOVEKXESS. 


Mr.  Philip  Fletcher. 

DURING  the  next  few  weeks  Christie  learaed  the 
worth  of  many  things  which  she  had  valued  very 
lightly  until  then.  Health  became  a  boon  too  precious 
to  be  trifled  with ;  life  assumed  a  deeper  significance 
when  death's  shadow  fell  upon  its  light,  and  she  dis- 
covered that  dependence  might  be  made  endurable  by 
the  sympathy  of  unsuspected  friends. 

Lucy  waited  upon  her  with  a  remorseful  devotion 


GOVERNESS.  57 

which  touched  her  very  much  and  won  entire  forgive- 
ness for  the  past,  long  before  it  was  repentantly  im- 
plored. All  her  comrades  came  with  offers  of  help  and 
affectionate  regrets.  Several  whom  she  had  most  dis- 
liked now  earned  her  gratitude  by  the  kindly  thought- 
fulness  which  filled  her  sick-room  with  fruit  and  flowers, 
supplied  carriages  for  the  convalescent,  and  paid  her 
doctor's  bill  without  her  knowledge. 

Thus  Christie  learned,  like  many  another  needy 
member  of  the  gay  profession,  that  though  often  extrav- 
agant and  jovial  in  their  way  of  life,  these  men  and 
women  give  as  freely  as  they  spend,  wear  warm,  true 
hearts  under  their  motley,  and  make  misfortune  only 
another  link  in  the  bond  of  good-fellowship  which 
binds  them  loyally  together. 

Slowly  Christie  gathered  her  energies  after  weeks  of 
suffering,  and  took  up  her  life  again,  grateful  for  the 
gift,  and  anxious  to  be  more  worthy  of  it.  Lookino- 
back  upon  the  past  she  felt  that  she  had  made  a  mis- 
take and  lost  more  than  she  had  gained  in  those  three 
years.  Others  might  lead  that  life  of  alternate  excite- 
ment and  hard  work  unharmed,  but  she  could  not. 
The  very  ardor  and  insight  which  gave  power  to  the 
actress  made  that  mimic  life  unsatisfactory  to  the 
woman,  for  hers  was  an  earnest  nature  that  took  fast 
hold  of  whatever  task  she  gave  herself  to  do,  and  lived 
in  it  heartily  while  duty  made  it  right,  or  novelty  lent 
it  charms.  But  when  she  saw  the  error  of  a  step,  the 
emptiness  of  a  belief,  with  a  like  earnestness  she  tried  to 
retrieve  the  one  and  to  replace  the  other  with  a  better  • 
substitute. 
In  the  silence  of  wakeful  nights  and  the  solitude  of 
3* 


58  WORK, 

quiet  days,  she  took  counsel  with  her  better  self,  con- 
demned the  reckless  spirit  which  had  possessed  her, 
and  came  at  last  to  the  decision  which  conscience 
prompted  and  much  thought  confirmed. 

"  The  stage  is  not  the  place  for  me,"  she  said,  "  I 
have  no  genius  to  glorify  the  drudgery,  keep  me  from 
temptation,  and  repay  me  for  any  sacrifice  I  make. 
Other  women  can  lead  this  life  safely  and  happily :  I 
cannot,  and  I  must  not  go  back  to  it,  because,  with  all 
my  past  experience,  and  in  spite  of  all  my  present  good 
resolutions,  I  should  do  no  better,  and  I  might  do  worse. 
I  'm  not  wise  enough  to  keep  steady  there ;  I  must 
return  to  the  old  ways,  dull  but  safe,  and  plod  along 
till  I  find  my  real  place  and  work." 

Great  was  the  surprise  of  Lucy  and  her  mother  when 
Christie  told  her  resolution,  adding,  in  a  whisper,  to  the 
girl,  "I  leave  the  field  clear  for  you,  dear,  and  will 
dance  at  your  wedding  with  all  my  heart  when  St. 
George  asks  you  to  play  the  '  Honeymoon '  with  him, 
as  I  'm  sure  he  will  before  long." 

Many  entreaties  from  friends,  as  well  as  secret  long- 
ings, tried  and  tempted  Christie  sorely,  but  she  with- 
stopd  them  all,  carried  her  point,  and  renounced  the 
profession  she  could  not  follow  without  self-injury  and 
self-reproach.  The  season  was  nearly  over  when  she 
was  well  enough  to  fake  her  place  again,  but  she 
refused  to  return,  relinquished  her  salary,  sold  her  ward- 
robe, and  never  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  theatre 
after  she  had  said  good-bye. 

Then  she  asked,  "  What  next  ? "  and  was  speedily 
answered.  An  advertisement  for  a  governess  met  her 
eye,  which   seemed   to   combine   the   two   things  she 


GOVERNESS.  59 

most  needed  just  then,  —  employment  and  change  of 
air: 

"  Mind  you  don't  mention  that  you  Ve  been  an  actress 
or  it  will  be  all  up  with  you,  me  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Black, 
as  Christie  prepared  to  investigate  the  matter,  for  since 
her  last  effort  in  that  line  she  had  increased  her  knowl- 
edge of  music,  and  learned  French  enough  to  venture 
teaching  it  to  very  young  pupils. 

"  I  'd  rather  tell  in  the  beginning,  for  if  you  keep  any- 
thing back  it 's  sure  to  pop  out  when  you  least  expect  or 
want  it.  I  don't  believe  these  people  will  care  as  long 
as  I  'ni  respectable  and  teach  well,"  returned  Christie, 
wishing  she  looked  stronger  and  rosier. 

"  You  '11  be  sorry  if  you  do  tell,"  warned  Mrs.  Black, 
who  knew  the  w^ays  of  the  world. 

"  I  shall  be  sorry  if  I  don't,"  laughed  Christie,  and 
so  she  was,  in  the  end. 

"  L.  N.  Saltonstall "  was  the  name  on  the  door,  and 
L.  N.  Saltonstall's  servant  w^as  so  leisurely  about 
answering  Christie's  meek  solo  on  the  bell,  that  she  had 
time  to  pull  out  her  bonnet-strings  half-a-dozen  times 
before  a  very  black  man  in  a  very  white  jacket  conde- 
scended to  conduct  her  to  his  mistress. 

A  frail,  tea-colored  lady  appeared,  displaying  such 
a  small  proportion  of  woman  to  such  a  large  pro- 
portion of  purple  and  fine  linen,  that  she  looked  as  if 
she  was  literally  as  well  as  figuratively  "  dressed  to 
death." 

Christie  went  to  the  point  in  a  business-like  manner 
that  seemed  to  suit  Mrs.  Saltonstall,  because  it  saved 
so  much  trouble,  and  she  replied,  with  a  languid  affa- 
bility : 


60  WOBK. 

"  I  wish  some  one  to  teach  tlie  children  a  little,  lor 
they  are  getting  too  old  to  be  left  entirely  to  nurse.  I 
am  anxious  to  get  to  the  sea-shore  as  soon  as  possible, 
for  they  have  been  poorly  all  winter,  and  my  own 
health  has  suifercd.  Do  you  feel  inclined  to  try  the 
place  ?    And  what  compensation  do  you  require  ?  " 

Christie  had  but  a  vague  idea  of  what  wages  were 
usually  paid  to  nursery  governesses,  and  hesitatingly 
named  a  sum  which  seemed  reasonable  to  her,  but  was 
so  much  less  than  any  other  applicant  had  asked,  that 
Mrs.  Salton stall  began  to  think  she  could  not  do  better 
than  secure  this  cheap  young  person,  who  looked  firm 
enough  to  manage  her  rebellious  son  and  heir,  and 
well-bred  enough  to  begin  the  education  of  a  little  fine 
lady.  Her  winter  had  been  an  extravagant  one,  and 
she  could  economize  in  the  governess  better  perhaps 
than  elsewhere ;  so  she  decided  to  try  Christie,  and  get 
out  of  town  at  once. 

"  Your  teiTus  are  quite  satisfactory.  Miss  Devon,  and 
if  my  brother  approves,  I  think  we  Avill  consider  the 
matter  settled.  Perhaps  you  would  Uke  to  see  the 
children  ?  They  are  little  darlings,  and  you  will  soon 
be  fond  of  them,  I  am  sure." 

A  bell  was  rung,  an  order  given,  and  presently 
appeared  an  eight-year  old  boy,  so  excessively  Scotch 
in  his  costume  that  he  looked  like  an  animated  checker- 
board ;  and  a  little  girl,  who  presented  the  appearance 
of  a  miniature  opera-dancer  staggering  under  the 
weight  of  an  immense  sash. 

*'  Go  and  speak  prettily  to  Miss  Devon,  my  pets,  for 
she  is  coming  to  play  with  you,  and  you  must  mind 
what  she  says,"  commanded  mamma. 


GOVERNESS.  61 

The  pale,  fretful-looking  little  pair  went  solemnly  to 
Cliristie's  knee,  and  stood  there  staring  at  her  with  a 
dull  composure  that  quite  daunted  her,  it  was  so  sadly 
unchildlike. 

"  What  is  your  name,  dear  ? "  she  asked,  laj-ing  her 
hand  on  the  young  lady's  head. 

"Villamena  Temmatina  Taltentall.  You  mustn't 
touch  my  hair ;  it 's  just  turled,"  was  the  somewhat 
embarrassing  reply. 

"Mine's  Louy  'Poleon  Thaltensthall,  like  papa's," 
volunteered  the  other  young  person,  and  Christie  pri- 
vately wondered  if  the  possession  of  names  nearly  as 
long  as  themselves  was  not  a  burden  to  the  poor 
dears. 

Feeling  that  she  must  say  something,  she  asked,  in 
her  most  persuasive  tone  : 

"  Would  you  like  to  have  me  come  and  teach  you 
some  nice  lessons  out  of  your  little  books  ?  " 

If  she  had  proposed  corporal  j^uuishment  on  the  spot 
it  could  not  have  caused  greater  dismay.  Wilhelmiua 
cast  herself  upon  the  floor  passionately,  declaring  that 
she  "  touldn't  tuddy,"  and  Saltonstall,  Jr.,  retreated 
precipitately  to  the  door,  and  from  that  refuge  defied 
the  whole  race  of  governesses  and  "nasty  lessons" 
jointly. 

"  There,  run  away  to  Justine.  They  are  sadly  out 
of  sorts,  and  quite  pining  for  sea-air,"  said  mamma, 
with  both  hands  at  her  ears,  for  the  war-cries  of  her 
darlings  were  piercing  as  they  departed,  proclaiming 
their  wrongs  while  swarming  up  stairs,  with  a  skirmish 
on  each  landing. 

With   a  few  more  words   Christie  took  leave,  and 


62  WORK. 

scandalized  the  sable  retainer  by  smiling  all  through 
the  hall,  and  laughing  audibly  as  the  door  closed.  The 
contrast  of  the  plaid  boy  and  beruffled  girl's  ii-ritabiUty 
with  their  mother's  languid  affectation,  and  her  own 
unfortunate  efforts,  was  too  much  for  her.  In  the 
middle  of  her  merriment  she  paused  suddenly,  saying 
to  herself: 

"I  never  told  about  my  acting.  I  must  go  back 
and  have  it  settled."  She  retraced  a  few  steps,  then 
turned  and  went  on  again,  thinking,  "  No  ;  for  once  I  '11 
be  guided  by  other  people's  advice,  and  let  well 
alone." 

A  note  arrived  soon  after,  bidding  Miss  Devon  con- 
sider herself  engaged,  and  desiring  her  to  join  the 
family  at  the  boat  on  Monday  next. 

At  the  appointed  time  Christie  was  on  board,  and 
looked  about  for  her  party.  Mrs.  Saltonstall  appeared 
in  the  distance  with  her  family  about  her,  and  Christie 
took  a  survey  before  reporting  herself.  Madame  looked 
more  like  a  fashion-plate  than  ever,  in  a  mass  of  green 
flounces,  and  an  impressive  bonnet  flushed  with  poppies 
and  bristling  with  wheat-ears.  Beside  her  sat  a  gentle- 
man, rapt  in  a  newspaper,  of  course,  for  to  an  American 
man  life  is  a  burden  till  the  daily  news  have  been  ab- 
sorbed. Mrs.  Saltonstall's  brother  was  the  possessor 
of  a  handsome  eye  without  softness,  thin  lips  without 
benevolence,  but  plenty  of  will ;  a  face  and  figure 
which  some  thirty-five  years  of  ease  and  pleasure  had 
done  their  best  to  polish  and  spoil,  and  a  costume 
without  flaw,  fi-om  his  aristocratic  boots  to  the  summer 
hat  on  his  head. 

The   little  boy  more   checkered   and   the  little   girl 


GOVERNESS.  (jg 

more  operatic  than  before,  sat  on  stools  eating  bonbons 

via  e  a  French  njaid  and  the  AlHcau  footman  hovxMoa 

m  the  background.  ^  v  ci  cu 


=t^^ '<,,:>.. 


Mrs.  Saltonstall  and  Family. 

Feeling  very  much  like  a  meek  gray  moth  amono- 

self"      "^^"""■''''''  *="^"^t'«  ""-^estly  presented  he." 

"Good  morning,"  said  Madame  with  a  nod,  which, 


64  WORK. 

slight  as  it  was,  caused  a  great  commotion  among  the 
poppies  and  the  wheat ;  "  I  began  to  be  anxious  about 
you.     Miss  Devon,  my  brother,  Mr.  Fletcher." 

The  gentleman  bowed,  and  as  Christie  sat  down  he 
got  up,  saying,  as  he  sauntered  away  with  a  bored 
expression : 

"Will  you  have  the  paper,  Charlotte?  There's 
nothing  in  it." 

As  Mrs.  Saltonstall  seemed  going  to  sleep  and  she 
felt  delicate  about  addressing  the  in-itable  infants 
in  public,  Christie  amused  herself  by  watching  Mr. 
Fletcher  as  he  roamed  listlessly  about,  and  deciding, 
in  her  usual  rash  way,  that  she  did  not  like  him  because 
he  looked  both  lazy  and  cross,  and  emiiii  was  evidently 
his  bosom  friend.  Soon,  however,  she  forgot  every 
thing  but  the  shimmer  of  the  sunshine  on  the  sea,  the 
fresh  wind  that  brought  color  to  her  pale  cheeks,  and 
the  happy  thoughts  that  left  a  smile  upon  her  lips. 
Then  Mr.  Fletcher  put  up  his  glass  and  stared  at  her, 
shook  his  head,  and  said,  as  he  lit  a  cigar : 

"  Poor  little  wretch,  what  a  time  she  will  have  of  it 
between  Charlotte  and  the  brats  !  " 

But  Christie  needed  no  pity,  and  thought  herself  a 
fortunate  young  woman  when  fairly  established  in  her 
corner  of  the  luxurious  apartments  occupied  by  the 
family.  Her  duties  seemed  light  compared  to  those 
she  had  left,  her  dreams  were  almost  as  bright  as  of 
old,  and  the  new  life  looked  pleasant  to  her,  for  she  was 
one  of  those  who  could  find  little  bits  of  happiness  for 
herself  and  enjoy  them  heartily  in  spite  of  loneliness 
or  neglect. 

One  of  her  amusements  was  studpng  her  companions, 


.      aOVEENESS,  65 

and  tor  a  time  this  occupied  her,  for  Christie  possessed 
penetration  and  a  leniinine  fancy  for  finding  out  people. 

Mrs.  Saltonstall's  mission  appeared  to  be  the  ilhis- 
tration  of  each  new  fasliion  as  it  came,  and  she  per- 
formed it  with  a  devotion  worthy  of  a  better  cause. 
If  a  color  reigned  supreme  she  flushed  herself  with 
scarlet  or  faded  into  primrose,  made  herself  pretty  in 
the  bluest  of  blue  gowns,  or  turned  livid  under  a  goose- 
berry colored  bonnet.  Her  hat-brims  went  up  or  down, 
were  preposterously  wide  or  dwindled  to  an  inch,  as 
the  mode  demanded.  Her  skirts  were  rampant  with 
sixteen  frills,  or  picturesque  with  landscapes  down  each 
side,  and  a  Greek  border  or  a  plain  hem.  Her  waists 
were  as  pointed  as  those  of  Queen  Bess  or  as  short  as 
Diana's-;  and  it  was  the  opinion  of  those  who  knew 
her  tliat  if  the  autocrat  who  ruled  her  life  decreed  the 
wearing  of  black  cats  as  well  as  of  vegetables,  bugs, 
and  birds,  the  blackest,  glossiest  Puss  procurable  for 
money  would  have  adorned  her  head  in  some  way. 

Her  time  was  spent  in  dressing,  driving,  dining  and 
dancing ;  in  skimming  novels,  and  embroidering  muslin ; 
going  to  church  with  a  velvet  prayer-book  and  a  new 
bonnet ;  and  writing  to  her  husband  when  she  wanted 
money,  for  she  had  a  husband  somewhere  abroad, 
who  so  happily  combined  business  with  pleasure  that 
he  n^ver  found  time  to  come  home.  Her  children  were 
inconvenient  blessings,  but  she  loved  them  with  the 
love  of  a  shallow  heart,  and  took  such  good  care  of 
their  little  bodies  that  there  was  none  left  for  their  little 
souls.  A  few  days'  trial  satisfied  her  as  to  Christie's 
capabilities,  and,  relieved  of  that  anxiety,  she  gave  her- 
self up  to  her  social  duties,  leaving  the  ooenii   and  iho. 


66  WORK. 

governess  to  make  tlic  simimer  wholesome  and  agree- 
able to  "  the  darlings." 

Mr.  Fletcher,  having  tried  all  sorts  of  pleasure  and 
found  that,  like  his  newspaper,  there  was  "  nothing  in 
it,"  was  now  paying  the  penalty  for  that  unsatisfactory 
knowledge.  Ill  health  soured  his  temper  and  made  his 
Ufe  a  burden  to  him.  Having  few  resources  within 
himself  to  fall  back  upon,  he  was  very  dependent  upon 
other  people,  and  other  people  were  so  busy  amusing 
themselves,  they  seemed  to  find  little  time  or  inclina- 
tion to  amuse  a  man  who  had  never  troubled  himself 
about  them.  He  was  rich,  but  while  his  money  could 
hire  a  servant  to  supply  each  want,  gratify  each  caprice, 
it  could  not  buy  a  tender,  faithful  friend  to  serve  for 
love,  and  ask  no  wages  but  his  comfort. 

He  knew  this,  and  felt  the  vain  regi-et  that  inevitably 
comes  to  those  who  waste  life  and  learn  the  value  of 
good  gifts  by  their  loss.  But  he  w^as  not  wise  or  brave 
enough  to  bear  his  punishment  manfully,  and  lay  the 
lesson  honestly  to  heart.  Fretful  and  imperious  when 
in  pain,  listless  and  selfish  when  at  ease,  his  one  aim  in 
life  now  was  to  kill  time,  and  any  thing  that  aided  him 
in  this  was  most  gratefully  welcomed. 

For  a  long  while  he  took  no  more  notice  of  Christie 
than  if  she  had  been  a  shadow,  seldom  speaking  beyond 
the  necessary  salutations,  and  merely  carrying  his  finger 
to  his  hat-brim  when  he  passed  her  on  the  beach  with 
the  children.  Her  first  dislike  was  softened  by  pity 
when  she  found  he  was  an  invalid,  but  she  troubled 
herself  very  little  about  him,  and  made  no  romances 
-wdth  him,  for  all  her  dreams  were  of  younger,  nobler 
lovers. 


GOVERNESS,  07 

Busied  with  her  own  affiiirs,  the  days  thougli  monot- 
ouous  were  not  unhappy.  She  prospered  in  her  Work 
and  the  children  soon  believed  in  her  as  devoutly  as 
young  Turks  in  their  Prophet.  She  devised  amuse- 
ments for  herself  as  well  as  for  them ;  walked,  bathed, 
di'ove,  and  romped  with  the  little  people  till  her  own 
eyes  shone  Hke  theirs,  her  cheek  grew  rosy,  and  her 
thin  figure  rounded  with  the  promise  of  vigorous  health 
again. 

Christie  was  at  her  best  that  summer,  physically 
s})caking,  for  sickness  had  refined  her  face,  giving  it 
that  indescribable  expression  which  pain  often  leaves 
upon  a  countenance  as  if  in  compensation  for  the  bloom 
it  takes  away.  The  frank  eyes  had  a  softer  shadow  in 
their  depths,  the  firm  lips  smiled  less  often,  but  when  it 
came  the  smile  was  the  sweeter  for  the  gravity  that 
went  before,  and  in  her  voice  there  was  a  new  under- 
tone of  that  subtle  music,  called  symj^athy,  which  steals 
into  the  heart  and  nestles  there. 

She  was  unconscious  of  this  gracious  change,  but 
others  saw  and  felt  it,  and  to  some  a  face  bright  with 
health,  intelligence,  and  modesty  was  more  attractive 
than  mere  beauty.  Thanks  to  this  and  her  quiet,  cordial 
manners,  she  found  fiiencTfe  here  and  there  to  add  charms 
to  that  summer  by  the  sea. 

The  dashing  young  men  took  no  more  notice  of  her 
than  if  she  had  been  a  Httle  gray  peep  on  the  sands ; 
not  so  much,  for  they  shot  peeps  now  and  then,  but  a 
governess  was  not  worth  bringing  down.  The  fashion- 
able belles  and  beauties  were  not  even  aware  of  her 
existence,  being  too  entirely  absorbed  in  their  yearly 
husband-hunt  to  think  of  any  one  but  themselves  and 


68  WOBE. 

their  prey.  The  dowagers  had  more  interesting  topics 
to  discuss,  and  found  notliing  in  Christie's  humble  for- 
tunes worthy  of  a  thought,  for  they  Uked  their  gossip 
strong  and  highly  flavored,  like  their  tea. 

But  a  kind-hearted  girl  or  two  found  her  out,  several 
lively  old  maids,  as  full  of  the  romance  of  the  past  as 
ancient  novels,  a  bashful  boy,  three  or  four  invalids, 
and  all  the  children,  for  Christie  had  a  motherly  heart 
and  could  find  charms  in  the  plainest,  crossest  baby  that 
ever  squalled. 

Of  her  old  friends  she  saw  nothing,  as  her  theatrical 
ones  were  off  on  their  vacations,  Ilepsey  had  left  her 
place  for  one  in  another  city,  and  Aunt  Betsey  seldom 
wrote. 

But  one  day  a  letter  came,  telling  her  that  the  dear 
old  lady  would  never  write  again,  and  Christie  felt  as 
if  her  nearest  and  dearest  friend  was  lost.  She  had 
gone  away  to  a  quiet  spot  among  the  rocks  to  get  over 
her  first  grief  alone,  but  found  it  very  hard  to  check 
her  tears,  as  memory  brought  back  the  past,  tenderly 
recalling  every  kind  act,  every  loving  word,  and  familiar 
scene.  She  seldom  wept,  but  when  any  thing  did  unseal 
the  fountains  that  lay  so  deep,  she  cried  T\ath  all  her 
heart,  and  felt  the  better  for  it. 

With  the  letter  crumpled  in  her  hand,  her  head  on 
her  knees,  and  her  hat  at  her  feet,  she  was  sobbing  like 
a  child,  when  steps  startled  her,  and,  looking  up,  she 
saw  Mr.  Fletcher  regarding  her  with  an  astonished 
countenance  from  under  his  big  sun  umbrella. 

Something  in  the  flushed,  wet  face,  with  its  tremu- 
lous lips  and  great  tears  rolling  down,  seemed  to  touch 


GOVERNESS.  69 

even  lazy  Mr.  Fletcher,  for  he  furled  his  umbrella  with 
unusual  rapidity,  and  came  up,  saying,  anxiously  : 

"My  dear  Miss  Devon,  what's  the  matter?  Are 
you  hurt?  Has  Mrs.  S.  been  scolding?  Or  have  the 
children  been  too  much  for  you?" 

"Noj  oh,  no  !  it's  bad  news  from  home,"  and  Chris- 
tie's head  went  down  again,  for  a  kind  word  was  more 
than  she  could  hear  just  then. 

"Some  one  ill,  I  fancy?  I'm  sony  to  hear  it,  but 
you  must  hope  for  the  best,  you  know,"  replied  Mr. 
Fletcher,  really  quite  exerting  himself  to  remember  and 
present  this  well-worn  consolation. 

"  There  is  no  hope ;  Aunt  Betsey 's  dead ! " 

"  Dear  me !  that 's  very  sad." 

Mr.  Fletcher  tried  not  to  smile  as  Christie  sobbed 
out  the  old-fashioned  name,  but  a  minute  afterward 
there  were  actually  tears  in  his  eyes,  for,  as  if  won  by 
his  sympathy,  she  poured  out  the  homely  little  story  of 
Aunt  Betsey's  life  and  love,  unconsciously  pronouncing 
the  kind  old  lady's  best  epitaph  in  the  unaflected  grief 
that  made  her  broken  words  so  eloquent. 

For  a  minute  Mr.  Fletcher  forgot  himself,  and  felt  as 
he  remembered  feeling  long  ago,  when,  a  w\arm-hearted 
boy,  he  had  comforted  his  little  sister  for  a  lost  kitten 
or  a  broken  doll.  It  was  a  new  sensation,  therefore 
interesting  and  agreeable  while  it  lasted,  and  when 
it  vanished,  which  it  speedily  did,  he  sighed,  then 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  wished  "the  girl  would 
stop  crying  like  a  water-spout." 

"It's  hard,  but  we  all  have  to  bear  it,  you  know; 
and  sometimes  I  fancy  if  half  the  pity  we  give  the 
dead,  who  don't  need  it,- was  given  to  the  living,  wlio 


70  WORK. 

do,  they'd  bear  their  troubles  more  comfortably.  I 
know  I  should,"  added  Mr.  Fletcher,  returning  to  his 
own  afflictions,  and  vaguely  wondering  if  any  one 
would  cry  like  that  when  he  departed  this  life. 

Christie  minded  little  what  he  said,  for  his  voice  was 
pitiful  and  it  comforted  her.  She  dried  her  tears,  put 
back  her  hair,  and  thanked  him  with  a  grateful  smile, 
which  gave  him  another  pleasant  sensation  ;  for,  though 
young  ladies  showered  smiles  upon  him  with  midsum- 
mer radiance,  they  seemed  cool  and  pale  beside  the 
sweet  sincerity  of  this  one  given  by  a  girl  whose  eyes 
were  red  with  tender  tears. 

"That's  right,  cheer  up,  take,  a  little  run  on  the 
beach,  and  forget  all  about  it,"  he  said,  with  a  hearti- 
ness that  surprised  himself  as  much  as  it  did  Christie. 

"  I  will,  thank  you.  Please  don't  speak  of  this  ;  I'm 
used  to  bearing  my  troubles  alone,  and  time  will  help 
me  to  do  it  cheerfully." 

"  That 's  brave  !  If  I  can  do  any  thing,  let  me  know ; 
I  shall  be  most  happy."  And  Mr.  Fletcher  evidently 
meant  what  he  said. 

Christie  gave  him  another  grateful  "Thank  you," 
then  picked  up  her  hat  and  went  away  along  the  sands 
to  try  his  prescription ;  while  Mr.  Fletcher  walked  the 
other  way,  so  rapt  in  thought  that  he  forgot  to  put 
up  his  umbrella  till  the  end  of  his  aristocratic  nose  was 
burnt  a  deep  red. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  it ;  for  when  Mr.  Fletcher 
found  a  new  amusement,  he  usually  pursued  it  regard- 
less of  consequences.  Christie  took  his  pity  for  what 
it  was  worth,  and  thought  no  more  of  that  little  inter- 
view, for  her  heart  was  very  heavy.     But  he  remera- 


GOVERNESS.  71 

bered  it,  and,  when  they  met  on  the  beach  next  day, 
wondered  how  the  governess  would  behave.  She  was 
reading  as  she  walked,  and,  with  a  mute  acknowledg- 
ment of  his  nod,  tranquilly  turned  a  page  and  read  on 
without  a  pause,  a  smile,  or  change  of  color. 

Mr.  Fletcher  laughed  as  he  strolled  away  ;  but  Chris- 
tie was  all  the  more  amusing  for  her  want  of  coquetry, 
and  soon  after  he  tried  her  again.  The  great  hotel 
was  all  astir  one  evening  with  bustle,  light,  and  music ; 
for  the  young  people  had  a  hop,  as  an  appropriate 
entertainment  for  a  melting  July  night.  With  no  taste 
for  such  folly,  even  if  health  had  not  forbidden  it,  Mr. 
Fletcher  lounged  about  the  piazzas,  tantalizing  the  fair 
fowlers  who  spread  their  nets  for  him,  and  goading 
sundry  desperate  spinsters  to  despair  by  his  erratic 
movements.  Coming  to  a  quiet  nook,  where  a  long 
window  gave  a  fine  view  of  the  brilliant  scene,  he 
found  Christie  leaning  in,  with  a  bright,  wistful  face, 
while  her  hand  kept  time  to  the  enchanting  music  of  a 
waltz. 

"  Wisely  watching  the  lunatics,  instead  of  joining  in 
their  antics,"  he  said,  sitting  down  with  a  sigh. 

Christie  looked  around  and  answered,  with  the  wist- 
ful look  still  in  her  eyes ;  ; 

« I  'm  very  fond  of  that  sort  of  insanity ;  but  there 
is  no  place  for  me  in  Bedlam  at  present."      ^ 

« I  daresay  I  can  find  you  one,  if  you  care  to  try  it. 
I  don't  indulge  myself."  And  Mr.  Fletcher's  eye  went 
from  the  rose  in  Christie's  brown  hair  to  the  silvery 
folds  of  her  best  gown,  put  on  merely  for  the  pleasure 
of  wearing  it  because  every  one  else  was  in  festival 
aiTay. 


72  WORK. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No,  thank  you.  Governesses 
are  very  kindly  treated  in  America;  but  ball-rooms 
like  that  ^re  not  for  them.  I  enjoy  looking-  on,  fortu- 
nately ;  so  I  have  ray  share  of  fun  after  all." 

"  I  shan't  get  any  complaints  out  of  her.  Plucky 
little  soul !  I  rather  like  that,"  said  Mr.  Fletcher  to 
himself;  and,  finding  his  seat  comfortable,  the  corner 
cool,  and  his  companion  pleasant  to  look  at,  with  the 
moonlight  doing  its  best  for  her,  he  went  on  talking  for 
his  own  satisfaction. 

Christie  would  rather  have  been  left  in  peace ;  but 
fancying  that  he  did  it  out  of  kindness  to  her,  and  that 
she  had  done  him  injustice  before,  she  was  grateful 
now,  and  exerted  herself  to  seem  so  ;  in  which  endeavor 
she  succeeded  so  well  that  Mr.  Fletcher  proved  he 
could  be  a  very  agi-eeable  companion  when  he  chose. 
He  talked  well ;  and  Christie  was  a  good  listener.  Soon 
interest  conquered  her  reserve,  and  she  ventured  to 
ask  a  question,  make  a  criticism,  or  express  an  opinion 
in  her  own  simple  way.  Unconsciously  she  piqued  the 
curiosity  of  the  man;  for,  though  he  knew  many  lovely, 
wise,  and  witty  women,  he  had  never  chanced  to  meet 
with  one  like  this  before ;  and  novelty  was  the  desire 
of  his  life.  Of  course  he  did  not  find  moonlight,  music, 
and  agreeable  chat  as  deUghtful  as  she  did ;  but  there 
was  something  animating  in  the  fresh  face  opposite, 
something  flattering  in  the  eager  interest  she  showed, 
and  something  most  attractive  in  the  glimpses  uncon- 
sciously given  him  of  a  nature  genuine  in  its  womanly 
sincerity  and  strength.  Something  about  this  girl 
seemed  to  appeal  to  the  old  self,  so  long  neglected  that 
he  thought  it  dead.    He  could  not  analyze  the  feeling, 


GOVERNESS.  73 

but  was  conscious  of  a  desire  to  seem  better  than  ho 
was  as  lie  looked  into  those  honest  eyes ;  to  talk  well, 
that  he  might  bring  that  frank  smile  to  the  lij^s  that 
grew  either  sad  or  scornful  when  he  tried  worldly  gos- 
sip or  bitter  satire ;  and  to  prove  himself  a  man  under 
all  the  elegance  and  polish  of  the  gentleman. 

He  was  discovering  then,  what  Christie  learned 
when  her  turn  came,  that  fine  natures  seldom  fail  to 
draw  out  the  finer  traits  of  those  who  approach  them, 
as  the  little  witch-hazel  wand,  even  in  the  hand  of  a 
child,  detects  and  points  to  hidden  springs  in  unsus- 
pected spots.  Women  often  possess  this  gift,  and  when 
used  worthily  find  it  as  powerful  as  beauty;  for,  if  less 
alluring,  it  is  more  lasting  and  more  helpful,  since  it 
appeals,  not  to  the  senses,  but  the  souls  of  men. 

Christie  was  one  of  these ;  and  in  proportion  as  her 
own  nature  was  sound  and  sweet  so  was  its  power  as  a 
touchstone  for  the  genuineness  of  others.  It  was  this 
unconscious  gift  that  made  her  wonder  at  the  unex- 
pected kindness  she  found  in  Mr.  Fletcher,  and  this 
which  made  him,  for  an  hour  or  two  at  least,  heart- 
ily wish  he  could  live  his  life  over  again  and  do  it 
better. 

After  that  evening  Mr.  Fletcher  spoke  to  Christie 
when  he  met  her,  turned  and  joined  her  sometimes 
as  she  walked  with  the  children,  and  fell  into  the  way 
of  lounging  near  when  she  sat  reading  aloud  to  an 
mvalid  friend  on  piazza  or  sea-shore.  Christie  much 
preferred  to  have  no  auditor  but  kind  Miss  Tudor;  but 
finding  the  old  lady  enjoyed  his  chat  she  resigned  her- 
self, and  when  he  brought  them  new  books  as  well  as 
himself,  she  became  quite  cordial. 


74  WORK, 

Everybody  sauntered  and  lounged,  so  no  one  minded 
the  little  group  that  met  day  after  day  among  the  rocks. 
Christie  read  aloud,  while  the  children  revelled  in  sand, 
shells,  and  puddles ;  Miss  Tudor  spun  endless  webs  of 
gay  silk  and  wool ;  and  Mr.  Fletcher,  with  his  hat  over 
his  eyes,  lay  sunning  himself  like  a  luxurious  lizard,  as 
he  watched  the  face  that  grew  daily  fairer  in  his  sight, 
and  listened  to  the  pleasant  voice  that  went  reading  on 
till  all  his  ills  and  oinui  seemed  lulled  to  sleep  as  by 
a  spell. 

A  week  or  two  of  this  new  caprice  set  Christie  to 
thinking.  She  knew  that  Uncle  Philip  was  not  fond 
of  "  the  darlings ; "  it  was  evident  that  good  Miss  Tu- 
dor, with  her  mild  twaddle  and  eternal  knitting,  was 
not  the  attraction,  so  she  was  forced  to  beUeve  that  he 
came  for  her  sake  alone.  She  laughed  at  herself  for 
this  fancy  at  first ;  but  not  possessing  the  sweet  uncon- 
sciousness of  those  heroines  who  can  live  through  three 
volumes  with  a  burning  passion  before  their  eyes,  and 
never  see  it  till  the  proper  moment  comes,  and  Eugene 
goes  dowm  upon  his  knees,  she  soon  felt  sure  that  Mr. 
Fletcher  found  her  society  agreeable,  and  wished  her  to 
know  it. 

Being  a  mortal  woman,  her  vanity  was  flattered,  and 
she  found  herself  showing  that  she  liked  it  by  those 
small  signs  and  symbols  which  lovers'  eyes  are  so  quick 
to  see  and  understand,  —  an  artful  bow  on  her  hat,  a 
flower  in  her  belt,  fresh  muslin  gowns,  and  the  most 
becoming  arrangement  of  her  hair. 

"Poor  man,  he  has  so  few  pleasures  I'm  sure  I 
needn't  grudge  him  such  a  small  one  as  looking  at  and 
listening?  to  me  if  he  likes  it,"  she  said  to  herself  one 


GOVERNESS.  75 

day,  as  she  was  preparing  for  her  daily  stroll  with  un- 
usual care.  "  But  how  will  it  end  ?  If  he  only  wants  a 
mild  flirtation  he  is  welcome  to  it ;  but  if  he  really 
cares  for  me,  I  must  make  up  my  mind  about  it,  and 
not  deceive  him.  I  don't  believe  he  loves  me  :  how 
can  he  ?  such  an  insignificant  creature  as  I  am." 

Here  she  looked  in  the  glass,  and  as  she  looked  the 
color  deepened  in  her  cheek,  her  eyes  shone,  and  a 
smile  would  sit  upon  her  lips, 'for  the  reflection  showed 
her  a  very  winning  face  under  the  coquettish  hat  put 
on  to  captivate. 

"Don't  be  foolish,  Christie  !  Mind  what  you  do,  and 
be  sure  vanity  doesn't  delude  you,  for  you  are  only  a 
woman,  and  in  things  of  this  sort  we  are  so  blind  and 
silly.  I  '11  think  of  this  possibility  soberly,  but  I  won't 
flirt,  and  then  which  ever  way  I  decide  I  shall  have 
nothing  to  reproach  myself  with." 

"Anned  ^^-ith  this  virtuous  resolution,  Christie  sternly 
replaced  the  2)retty  hat  with  her  old  brown  one,  fas- 
tened up  a  becoming  curl,  which  of  late  she  had  worn 
behind  her  ear,  and  put  on  a  pair  of  stout,  rusty  boots, 
much  fitter  for  rocks  and  sand  than  the  smart  slippers 
she  was  preparing  to  sacrifice.  Then  she  trudged  away 
to  Miss  Tudor,  bent  on  being  very  quiet  and  reserved, 
as  became  a  meek  and  lowly  governess. 

But,  dear  heart,  how  feeble  are  the  resolutions  of 
womankind !  When  she  found  herself  sitting  in  her 
favorite  nook,  with  the  wide,  blue  sea  glittering  below, 
the  fresh  wind  making  her  blood  dance  in  her  veins, 
and  all  the  earth  and  sky  so  full  of  summer  life  and 
loveliness,  her  heart  icould  sing  for  joy,  her  face  xcould 
shine  with   the  mere   bliss  of  living,  and   underneath 


76  WORK. 

all  this  natural  content  the  new  thought,  half  con- 
fessed, yet  very  sweet,  would  whisper,  "Somebody 
cares  for  me." 

If  she  had  doubted  it,  the  expression  of  Mr.  Fletch- 
er's face  that  morning  would  have  dispelled  the  doubt, 
for,  as  she  read,  he  was  saying  to  himself:  "  Yes,  this 
healtliful,  cheery,  helpful  creature  is  what  I  want  to 
make  life  pleasant.  Every  thing  else  is  used  up  ;  why 
not  try  this,  and  make  the  most  of  my  last  chance  ? 
She  does  me  good,  and  I  don't  seem  to  get  tired  of  her. 
I  can't  have  a  long  life,  they  tell  me,  nor  an  easy  one, 
with  the  devil  to  pay  with  my  vitals  generally ;  so  it 
would  be  a  wise  thing  to  provide  myself  with  a  good- 
tempered,  faithful  soul  to  take  care  of  me.  My  fortune 
would  pay  for  loss  of  time,  and  my  death  leave  her 
a  bonny  widow.  I  Avon't  be  rash,  but  I  think  I  '11 
try  it." 

With  this  mixture  of  tender,  selfish,  and  regretful 
thoughts  in  liis  mind,  it  is  no  wonder  Mr;  Fletcher's 
eyes  betrayed  him,  as  he  lay  looking  at  Christie.  Never 
had  she  read  so  badly,  for  she  could  not  keep  her  mind 
on  her  book.  It  would  wander  to  that  new  and  trouble- 
some fmcy  of  hers ;  she  could  not  help  thinking  that 
Mr.  Fletcher  must  have  been  a  handsome  man  before 
he  was  so  ill ;  wondering  if  his  temper  was  very  bad, 
and  fancying  that  he  might  prove  both  generous  and 
kind  and  true  to  one  who  loved  and  served  him  well. 
At  this  point  she  was  suddenly  checked  by  a  slip  of  the 
tongue  that  covered  her  with  confusion. 

She  was  reading  "  John  Halifiix,"  and  instead  of  say- 
ing "  Phineas  Fletcher"  she  said  Philip,  and  then  colored 
to  her  forehead,  and  lost  her  place.     Miss  Tudor  did 


aOVERNESS.  77 

not  mind  it,  but  Mr.  Fletcher  laughed,  and  Christie 
tlianked  Heaven  that  her  flice  was  half  hidden  by  the 
old  brown  hat. 

Nothing  was  said,  but  she  was  much  relieved  to  find 
that  Mr.  Fletcher  had  joined  a  yachting  party  next 
day  and  he  would  be  away  for  a  week.  During  that 
week  Christie  thought  over  the  matter,  and  lancied  she 
had  made  up  her  mind.  She  recalled  certain  speeches 
she  had  heard,  and  which  had  more  weight  with  her  than 
she  suspected.  One  dowager  had  said  to  another :  "  P. 
F.  intends  to  marry,  I  assure  you,  for  his  sister  told  me 
so,  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  Men  who  have  been  gay  in 
their  youth  make  very  good  husbands  when  their  wild 
oats  are  sowed.  Clara  could  not  do  better,  and  I  should 
be  quite  content  to  give  her  to  him." 

"  Well,  dear,  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  my  Augusta 
his  wife,  for  whoever  he  marries  will  be  a  perfect  slave 
to  him.  His  fortune  would  be  a  nice  thing  if  he  did 
not  live  long ;  but  even  for  that  my  Augusta  shall  not  be 
sacrificed,"  returned  the  other  matron  whose  Augusta 
had  vainly  tried  to  captivate  "P.  F.,"  and  revenged 
herself  by  calling  him  ■"  a  wreck,  my  dear,  a  perfect 
wreck." 

At  another  time  Christie  heard  some  girls  discussing 
the  eligibility  of  several  gentlemen,  and  Mr.  Fletcher 
was  considered  the  best  match  among  them. 

"  You  can  do  any  thing  you  like  with  a  husband  a 
good  deal  older  than  yourself.  He  ^s  happy  with  his 
business,  his  club,  and  his  dinner,  and  leaves  you  to  do 
what  you  please  ;  just  keep  him  comfortable  and  he  '11 
pay  your  bills  without  much  fuss,"  said  one  young  thing 
who  had  seen  life  at  twenty. 


78  WOFiK. 

"  I  'd  take  him  if  I  had  tlie  chance,  just  because 
everybody  wants  him.  Don't  admire  liim  a  particle, 
but  it  will  make  a  jolly  stir  whenever  he  does  marry, 
and  I  wouldn't  mind  having  a  hand  in  it,"  said  the 
second  budding  belle. 

"  I  'd  take  him  for  the  diamonds  alone.  Mamma 
says  they  are  splendid,  and  have  been  in  the  family  for 
ages.  He  won't  let  Mrs.  S.  wear  them,  for  they  always 
go  to  the  eldest  son's  wife.  Hope  he'll  choose  a  hand- 
some w^oman  who  will  show  them  off  w-ell,"  said  a  third 
sweet  girl,  glancing  at  her  own  fine  neck. 

"  He  won't ;  he  '11  take  some  poky  old  maid  wiio  will 
cuddle  bim  when  he  is  sick,  and  keep  out  of  his  way 
wdien  he  is  well.     See  if  he  don't." 

"  I  saw  him  dawdling  round  with  old  Tudor,  perhaps 
he  means  to  take  her  :  she  's  a  capital  nurse,  got  ill  her- 
self taking  care  of  her  father,  you  know." 

"Perhaps  he's  after  the  governess  ;  she  's  rather  nice 
looking,  though  she  hasn  't  a  bit  of  style." 

"  Gracious,  no  !  she  's  a  dowdy  thing,  always  trailing 
round  mth  a  book  and  those  horrid  children.  No 
danger  of  his  marrying  Aer."  And  a  derisive  laugh 
seemed  to  settle  that  question  beyond  a  doubt. 

"  Oh,  indeed !  "  said  Christie,  as  the  girls  went  troop- 
ing out  of  the  bath-house,  where  this  pleasing  chatter 
had  been  carried  on  regardless  of  listeners.  She  called 
theni  "  mercenary,  worldly,  unwomanly  flirts,"  and  felt 
herself  much  their  superior.  Yet  the  memory  of  their 
gossip  haunted  her,  and  had  its  influence  upon  her 
decision,  though  she  thought  she  came  to  it  through 
her  own  good  judgment  and  discretion. 

'*  K  he  really  cares  for  me  I  will  listen,  and  not  refuse 


GOVERNESS,  70 

till  I  know  him  well  enough  to  decide.  I'm  tired  of 
being  alone,  and  should  enjoy  ease  and  pleasure  so 
niiich.  He's  going  abroad  for  the  winter,  and  that 
would  be  charming.  I  '11  try  not  to  be  worldly-minded 
and  marry  without  love,  but  it  does  look  tempting  to 
a  poor  soul  like  me." 

So  Christie  made  up  her  mind  to  accept,  if  this  pro- 
motion was  oifered  her;  and  while  she  waited,  went 
through  so  many  alternations  of  feeling,  and  was  so 
harassed  by  doubts  and  fears  that  she  sometimes  found 
herself  wishing  it  had  never  occurred  to  her. 

Mr.  Fletcher,  meantime,  with  the  help  of  many  medi- 
tative cigars,  was  making  up  his  mind.  Absence  only 
proved  to  him  how  much  he  needed  a  better  time-killer 
than  billiards,  horses,  or  newspapers,  for  the  long,  list- 
less days  seemed  endless  without  the  cheerful  govern- 
ess to  tone  him  up,  like  a  new  and  agreeable  sort  of 
bitters.  A  gradually  increasing  desire  to  secure  this 
satisfaction  had  taken  possession  of  him,  and  the 
thought  of  always  having  a  pleasant  companion,  with 
no  nerves,  nonsense,  or  affectation  about  her,  was  an 
inviting  idea  to  a  man  tired  of  fashionable  follies  and 
tormented  with  the  ennui  of  his  own  society. 

The  gossip,  wonder,  and  chagrin  such  a  step  would 
cause  rather  pleased  his  fancy ;  the  excitement  of  try- 
ing almost  the  only  thing  as  yet  mitried  allured  him ; 
and  deeper  than  all  the  desire  to  forget  the  past  in  a 
better  future  led  him  to  Christie  by  the  nobler  instincts 
that  never  wholly  die  in  any  soul.  He  wanted  her  as 
he  had  wanted  many  other  things  in  his  life,  and  had 
little  doubt  that  he  could  have  her  for  the  asking. 
Even  if  love  was  not  abounding^  surely  his  fortune, 


80  WOBK. 

which  hitherto  had  procured  him  all  he  wished  (except 
health  and  happiness)  could  buy  him  a  wife,  when  his 
friends  made  better  bargains  every  day.  So,  having 
settled  the  question,  he  came  home  again,  and  every 
one  said  the  trip  had  done  him  a  world  of  good. 

Christie  sat  in  her  favorite  nook  one  bright  Septem- 
ber morning,  with  the  inevitable  children  hunting  hn\>- 
less  crabs  in  a  pool  near  by.  A  book  lay  on  her  knee, 
but  she  was  not  reading ;  her  eyes  were  looking  far 
across  the  blue  waste  before  her  with  an  eager  gaze, 
and  her  face  was  bright  with  some  happy  thought. 
The  sound  of  approaching  steps  disturbed  her  reverie, 
and,  recognizing  them,  she  jjlunged  into  the  heart  of 
the  story,  reading  as  if  utterly  absorbed,  till  a  shadow 
fell  athwart  the  page,  and  the  voice  she  had  expected 
to  hear  asked  blandly  : 

"  What  book  now.  Miss  Deyon  ?  " 

"'Jane  Eyre,' sir." 

Mr.  Fletcher  sat  down  just  where  her  hat-brim  was 
no  screen,  pulled  off  his  gloves,  and  leisurely  composed 
himself  for  a  comfortable  lounge. 

"  What  is  your  opinion  of  Rochester  ?  "  he  asked, 
presently. 

"  Not  a  very  high  one." 

"  Then  you  think  Jane  was  a  fool  to  love  and  try  to 
make  a  saint  of  him,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  like  Jane,  but  never  can  forgive  her  man-ying  that 
man,  as  I  haven't  much  faith  in  the  saints  such  sinners 
make." 

"  But  don't  you  think  a  man  who  had  only  follies  to 
regret  might  expect  a  good  woman  to  lend  him  a  hand 
and  make  him  happy  ?  " 


GOVEBNESS.  81 

"  If  lie  lias  wasted  his  life  he  must  tiike  the  conse- 
quences, and  be  content  with  pity  and  indifference, 
instead  of  respect  and  love.  Many  good  women  do 
*  lend  a  hand,'  as  you  say,  and  it  is  quite  Christian  and 
amiable,  I  've  no  doubt ;  but  I  cannot  think  it  a  fair 
bargain." 

Mr.  Fletcher  liked  to  make  Christie  talk,  for  in  the 
interest  of  the  subject  she  forgot  herself,  and  her  chief 
charm  for  him  was  her  earnestness.  But  just  then  the 
earnestness  did  not  seem  to  suit  him,  and  he  said,  rather 
sharply  : 

"  What  hard-hearted  creatures  you  women  are  some- 
times !  Xow,  I  fancied  you  were  one  of  those  who 
wouldn't  leave  a  i)oor  fellow  to  his  fate,  if  his  salvation 
lay  in  your  hands." 

"  I  can't  say  what  I  should  do  in  such  a  case  ;  but  it 
always  seemed  to  me  that  a  man  should  have  energy 
enough  to  save  himself,  and  not  expect  the  '  weaker 
vessel,'  as  he  calls  her,  to  do  it  for  him,"  answered 
Christie,  with  a  conscious  look,  for  Mr.  Fletcher's  face 
made  her  feel  as  if  something  was  going  to  happen. 

Evidently  anxious  to  know  what  she  would  do  in 
aforesaid  case,  Mr.  Fletcher  decided  to  put  one  before 
her  as  speedily  as  possible,  so  he  said,  in  a  pensive  tone, 
and  with  a  Avistful  glance  : 

"You  looked  very  happy  just  now  when  I  came  up. 
I  wish  I  could  believe  that  my  return  had  any  thing  to 
do  with  it." 

Christie  wished  she  could  control  her  tell-tale  color, 
but  finding  she  could  not,  looked  hard  at  the  sea,  and, 
ignoring  his  tender  insinuation,  said,  with  suspicious 
enthusiasni : 
4* 


82  WORK. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  what  Mrs.  Saltonstall  said  this 
morning.  She  asked  me  if  I  would  like  to  go  to  Paris 
with  her  for  the  winter.  It  has  always  been  one  of  ray- 
dreams  to  go  abroad,  and  I  do  hope  I  shall  not  be  dis- 
appointed." 

Christie's  blush  seemed  to  be  a  truer  answer  than  her 
words,  and,  leaning  a  little  nearer,  Mr.  Fletcher  said, 
in  his  most  persuasive  tone: 

"  Will  you  go  to  Paris  as  my  governess,  instead  of 
Charlotte's  ?  " 

Christie  thought  her  reply  was  all  ready ;  but  when 
the  moment  came,  she  found  it  was  not,  and  sat  silent, 
feeling  as  if  that  "  Yes  "  would  promise  far  more  than 
she  could  give.  Mr.  Fletcher  had  no  doubt  Avhat  the 
answer  would  be,  and  was  in  no  haste  to  get  it,  for  that 
was  one  of  the  moments  that  are  so  pleasant  and  so 
short-lived  they  should  be  enjoyed  to  the  uttermost. 
He  liked  to  watch  her  color  come  and  go,  to  see  the 
asters  on  her  bosom  tremble  with  the  quickened  beat- 
ing of  her  heart,  and  tasted,  in  anticipation,  the  satis- 
faction of  the  moment  when  that  pleasant  voice  of 
hers  would  falter  out  its  grateful  assent.  Drawing  yet 
nearer,  he  w^ent  on,  still  in  the  persuasive  tone  that 
would  have  been  more  lover-Uke  if  it  had  been  less 
assured. 

"  I  think  I  am  not  mistaken  in  believing  that  you 
care  for  me  a  little.  You  must  know  how  fond  I  am 
of  you,  how  much  I  need  you,  and  how  glad  I  should 
be  to  give  all  I  have  if  I  might  keep  you  always  to 
make  my  hard  hfe  happy.     May  I,  Christie  ?  " 

"  You  would  soon  tire  of  me.  I  have  no  beauty,  no 
accomplishments,  no  fortune,  —  nothing  but  my  heart 


GOVERNESS.  83 

and  my  hand  to  give  the  man  I  marry.  Is  that  enouc-h  ■> " 
asked  Chnst.e,  looking  at  him  with  eyes  that  betrayed 
the  hunger  of  an  emj.ty  heart  longing  to  be  fed  with 
geniuue  food. 

But  Sir.  Fletcher  did  not  understand  its  meanin..- 
he  saw  the  humility  in  her  face,  thought  she  was  ove'r- 
come  by  the  weight  of  the  honor  he  did  her,  and  tried 
to  reassure  her  with  the  gracious  air  of  one  who  wishes 
to  lighten  the  favor  he  confers. 

"It  might  not  be  for  some  men,  but  it  is  for  me 
because  I  want  you  very  much.  Let  people  say  what 
they  W.11,  If  you  say  yes  I  am  satisfied.  You  shall  not 
regre  i  Chnstie ;  I  '11  do  my  best  to  make  you  happy  • 
you  shall  travel  wherever  I  can  go  with  you,  have  what 
you  hke,  ,t  possible,  and  when  we  come  back  by  and 
by,  you  shall  take  your  place  in  the  world  as  my  wife 
lou  wil  fill  it  well,  I  fancy,  and  I  shall  be  a  happy 
man.  I  ve  had  my  own  way  all  my  life,  and  I  mean  to 
have  ,t  now,  so  smile,  and  say,  'Yes,  Philip,'  like  a 
sweet  soul,  as  you  are." 

„^«V^''"^fM-'^'f  r'  """''  ""'^  *'^"  °"  inclination  to 
say     Yes,  Plnhp,"  for  that  last  speech  of  his  jarred  on 
her  ear.     Tlie  tone  of  unconscious  condescension  in  it 
wounded    the  woman's   sensitive   pri.le;  self  was  too 
apparent,  and  the  most  generous  words  seemed  to  her 
hke  bribes.     This  was  not  the  lover  she  had  dreamed 
ot,   he  brave    true  man  who  gave  her  all,  and  felt  it 
could  not  half  repay  the  treasure  of  her  innocent,  first 
ove.    This  was  not  the  h.ippiness  she  had  hoped  for, 
the  perfect  faith,  the  glad  surrender,  the  sweet  content 
that  made  all  things  possible,  and  changed  this  work-a- 
day  world  into  a  heaven  while  the  joy  lasted 


84  WORK. 

She  had  decided  to  say  "  yes,"  but  her  heart  said 
"  no  "  decidedly,  and  with  instinctive  loyalty  she  obeyed 
it,  even  while  she  seemed  to  yield  to  the  temptation 
which  aj)peals  to  three  of  the  strongest  foibles  in  most 
women's  natm*e,  —  vanity,  ambition,  and  the  love  of 
pleasure. 

"You  are  very  kind,  but  you  may  repent  it,  you 
know  so  little  of  me,"  she  began,  trying  to  soften  her 
refusal,  but  sadly  hindered  by  a  feeling  of  contempt. 

"  I  know  more  about  you  than  you  think ;  but  it 
makes  no  difference,"  interrupted  Mr.  Fletcher,  with  a 
smile  that  irritated  Chiistie,  even  before  she  understood 
its  significance.  "  I  thought  it  would  at  first,  but  1 
found  I  couldn't  get  on  without  you,  so  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  forgive  and  forget  that  my  wife  had  ever  been 
an  actress." 

Christie  had  forgotten  it,  and  it  would  have  been 
well  for  him  if  he  had  held  his  tongue.  Now  she 
understood  the  tone  that  had  chilled  her,  the  smile  that 
angered  her,  and  Mr.  Fletcher's  fate  was  settled  in  the 
drawing  of  a  breath. 

"Who  told  you  that?"  she  asked,  quickly,  while 
every  nerve  tingled  with  the  mortification  of  being 
found  out  then  and  there  in  the  one  secret  of  her  life. 

"  I  saw  you  dancing  on  the  beach  with  the  children 
one  day,  and  it  reminded  me  of  an  actress  I  had  once 
seen.  I  should  not  have  remembered  it  but  for  the 
accident  which  impressed  it  on  my  mind.  Powder, 
paint,  and  costume  made  '  Miss  Douglas '  a  very  differ- 
ent woman  from  Miss  Devon,  but  a  few  cautious  inqui- 
ries settled  the  matter,  and  I  then  understood  where 
you  got  that  slight  soup^on  of  dash  and  daring  which 


GOVERNESS.  85 

makes  our  demure  governess  so  charmiug  when  with 
me." 

As  he  spoke,  Mr.  Fletcher  smiled  again,  and  kissed 
his  hand  to  her  with  a  dramatic  little  gesture  that  exas- 
perated Christie  beyond  measure.  She  would  not  make 
light  of  it,  as  he  did,  and  submit  to  be  forgiven  for  a 
past  she  was  not  ashamed  of.  Heartily  wishing  she 
had  been  frank  at  first,  she  resolved  to  have  it  out  now, 
and  accept  nothing  Mr.  Fletcher  offered  her,  not  even 
silence. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  as  steadily  as  she  could,  "  I  was  an 
actress  for  three  years,  and  though  it  was  a  hard  life  it 
was  an  honest  one,  and  I'm  not  ashamed  of  it.  I 
ought  to  have  told  Mrs.  Saltonstall,  but  I  was  warned 
that  if  I  did  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  a  place,  people 
are  so  prejudiced.  I  sincerely  regret  it  now,  and 
shall  tell  her  at  once,  so  you  may  save  yourself  the 
trouble." 

"My  dear  girl,  I  never  dreamed  of  telling  any  one ! " 
cried  Mr.  Fletcher  in  an  injured  tone.  "I  beg  you 
won't  speak,  but  trust  me,  and  let  it  be  a  little  secret 
between  us  two.  I  assure  you  it  makes  no  difference 
to  me,  for  I  should  marry  an  opera  dancer  if  I  chose, 
so  forget  it,  as  I  do,  and  set  my  mind  at  rest  upon  the 
other  point.  I'm  still  waiting  for  my  answer,  you 
know." 

"It  is  ready." 

"  A  kind  one,  I  'm  sure.     What  is  it,  Christie  ?  " 

"No,  I  thank  you." 

"  But  you  are  not  in  earnest  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  so." 

Mr.  Fletcher  got  up  suddenly  and  set  his  back  against 


86 


WORK. 


the  rock,  saying  in  a  tone  of  such  unaffected  surprise 
and  disappointment  that  her  heart  reproached  her: 


-v^ 


W^^r-yA^\^^ 


No,     I    THANK    YOU.  " 


"  Am  I  to  understand  that  as  your  final  answer,  Miss 
Devon  ?  " 

"Distinctly  and  decidedly  my  final  answer,  Mr. 
Fletcher." 

Christie  tried  to  speak  kindly,  but  she  was  angry 
with  herself  and  him,  and  unconsciously  showed  it  both 
in  face  and  voice,  for  she  was  no  actress  off  the  stage, 
and  wanted  to  be  very  true  just  then  as  a  late  atone- 
ment for  that  earlier  want  of  candor. 


GOVERNESS,  87 

A  quick  change  passed  over  Mr.  FJetcher's  face  ;  his 
cold  eyes  kindled  with  an  angry  spark,  his  lips  were 
pale  with  anger,  and  his  voice  was  very  bitter^  as  he 
slowly  said: 

"IVe  made  many  blunders  in  ray  life,  and  this  is 
one  of  the  greatest ;  for  I  believed  in  a  woman,  was 
fool  enough  to  care  for  her  with  the  sincerest  love  I 
ever  knew,  and  fancied  that  she  would  be  grateful  for 
the  sacrifice  I  made." 

He  got  no  further,  for  Christie  rose  straight  up  and 
answered  him  with  all  the  indignation  she  felt  burning 
in  her  face  and  stirring  the  voice  she  tried  in  vain  to 
keep  as  steady  as  his  own. 

"  The  sacrifice  would  not  have  been  all  yours,  for  it 
is  wliat  we  are^  not  what  we  A«ye,  that  makes  one 
human  being  superior  to  another.  I  am  as  well-bom 
as  you  in  spite  of  my  poverty ;  my  Ufe,  I  think,  has 
been  a  better  one  than  yours;  my  heart,  I  know,  is 
fresher,  and  my  memory  has  fewer  faults  and  follies  to 
reproach  me  with.  What  can  you  give  me  but  money 
and  position  in  return  for  the  youth  and  freedom  I 
should  sacrifice  in  marrying  you  ?  Not  love,  for  you 
count  the  cost  of  your  bargain,  as  no  true  lover  could, 
and  you  reproach  me  for  deceit  when  in  your  heart  you 
know  you  only  cared  for  me  because  I  can  amuse  and 
serv^e  you.  I  too  deceived  myself  I  too  see  my  mis- 
take, and  I  decline  the  honor  you  would  do  me,  since  it 
is  so  great  in  your  eyes  that  you  must  remind  me  of  it 
as  you  ofier  it." 

In  the  excitement  of  the  moment  Cliristie  uncon- 
sciously spoke  with  something  of  her  old  dramatic  fer- 
vor in  voice  and  gesture ;  Mr.  Fletcher  saw  it,  and, 


88  WOBK. 

while  he  never  had  admired  her  so  much,  could  not 
resist  avenging  himself  for  the  words  that  angered  him, 
the  more  deeply  for  their  truth.  Wounded  vanity  and 
baffled  will  can  make  an  ungenerous  man  as  spiteful  as 
a  woman ;  and  Mr.  Fletcher  proved  it  then,  for  he  saw 
where  Christie's  pride  was  sorest,  and  touched  the 
wound  with  the  skill  of  a  resentful  nature. 

As  she  paused,  he  softly  clapped  his  hands,  saying, 
with  a  smile  that  made  her  eyes  flash: 

"  Very  well  done !  infinitely  superior  to  your  '  Wof- 
fington,'  Miss  Devon.  I  am  disappointed  in  the  woman, 
but  I  make  my  compliment  to  the  actress,  and  leave 
the  stage  fi-ee  for  another  and  a  more  successful  Romeo." 

Still  smiling,  he  bowed  and  went  away  apparently 
quite  calm  and  much  amused,  but  a  more  wrathful,  dis- 
appointed man  never  crossed  those  sands  than  the  one 
who  kicked  his  dog  and  swore  at  himself  for  a  fool  that 
day  when  no  one  saw  him. 

For  a  minute  Christie  stood  and  watched  him,  then, 
feeling  that  she  must  either  laugh  or  cry,  wisely  chose 
the  former  vent  for  her  emotions,  and  sat  down  feeling 
inclined  to  look  at  the  whole  scene  from  a  ludicrous 
point  of  view. 
\)^  "  My  second  love  affair  is  a  worse  failure  than  my 
first,  for  I  did  pity  poor  Joe,  but  this  man  is  detestable, 
and  I  never  will  forgive  him  that  last  insult.  I  dare 
say  I  was  absurdly  tragical,  I  'm  apt  to  be  when  very 
angry,  but  what  a  temper  he  has  got !  The  white,  cold 
kind,  that  smoulders  and  stabs,  instead  of  blazing  up 
and  being  over  in  a  minute.  Thank  Heaven,  I  'm  not 
his  wife !  Well,  I  've  made  an  enemy  and  lost  my 
place,  for  of  course  Mrs.   Saltonstall  won't  keep  me 


GOVERNESS.  89 

after  this  awftil  discovery.  I  '11  tell  her  at  once,  for  I 
will  have  no  *  little  secrets '  with  him.  No  Pai-is  either, 
and  that 's  the  worst  of  it  all !  Never  mind,  I  haven't 
sold  my  liberty  for  the  Fletcher  diamonds,  and  that 's 
a  comfort.  Now  a  short  scene  with  my  lady  and  then 
exit  governess." 

But  though  she  laughed,  Christie  felt  troubled  at  the 
part  she  had  played  in  this  affair;  repented  of  her 
worldly  aspirations ;  confessed  her  vanity ;  accepted 
her  mortification  and  disappointment  as  a  just  punish- 
ment for  her  sins ;  and  yet  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart 
she  did  enjoy  it  mightily. 

She  tried  to  spare  Mr.  Fletcher  in  her  interview  with 
his  sister,  and  only  betrayed  her  own  iniquities.  But, 
to  her  surprise,  Mrs.  Saltonstall,  though  much  disturbed 
at  the  discovery,  valued  Christie  as  a  governess,  and 
respected  her  as  a  woman,  so  she  was  willing  to  bury 
the  past,  she  said,  and  still  hoped  Miss  Devon  would 
remain. 

Then  Christie  was  forced  to  tell  her  why  it  was  im- 
possible for  her  to  do  so ;  and,  in  her  secret  soul,  she 
took  a  naughty  satisfaction  in  demurely  mentioning 
that  she  had  refused  my  lord. 

Mrs.  Saltonstall's  consternation  was  comical,  for  she 
had  been  so  absorbed  in  her  own  affairs  she  had  sus- 
pected nothing;  and  horror  fell  upon  her  when  she 
learned  how  near  dear  Philip  had  been  to  the  fate  from 
which  she  jealously  guarded  him,  that  his  property 
might  one  day  benefit  the  darlings. 

In  a  moment  every  thing  was  changed ;  and  it  was 
evident  to  Christie  that  the  sooner  she  left  the  better  it 
would  suit  madame.     The  proprieties  were  preserved 


90  WORK. 

to  the  end,  and  Mrs.  Saltonstall  treated  her  with  un- 
usual respect,  for  she  had  come  to  honor,  and  also  con- 
ducted herself  in  a  most  praiseworthy  manner.  How 
she  could  refuse  a  Fletcher  visibly  amazed  the  lady ; 
but  she  forgave  the  slight,  and  gently  insinuated  that 
"  my  brother  "  was,  perhaps,  only  amusing  himself 

Christie  was  but  too  glad  to  be  off;  and  when  Mrs. 
Saltonstall  asked  when  she  would  prefer  to  leave, 
promptly  replied,  "  To-morrow,"  received  her  salary, 
which  was  forthcoming  with  unusual  punctuality,  and 
packed  her  trunks  with  delightful  rapidity. 

As  the  family  was  to  leave  in  a  week,  her  sudden 
departure  caused  no  surpnse  to  the  few  who  knew  her, 
and  with  kind  farewells  to  such  of  her  summer  friends 
as  still  remained,  she  went  to  bed  that  night  all  ready 
for  an  early  start.  She  saw  nothing  more  of  Mr. 
Fletcher  that  day,  but  the  sound  of  excited  voices  in 
the  drawing-room  assured  her  that  madame  was  having 
it  out  with  her  brother;  and  with  truly  feminine  incon- 
sistency Christie  hoped  that  she  would  not  be  too  hard 
upon  the  poor  man,  for,  after  all,  it  was  kind  of  him  to 
overlook  the  actress,  and  ask  the  governess  to  share  his 
good  things  with  him. 

She  did  not  repent,  but  she  got  herself  to  sleep, 
imagining  a  bridal  trip  to  Paris,  and  dreamed  so 
delightfully  of  lost  splendors  that  the  awakening  was 
rather  blank,  the  future  rather  cold  and  hard. 

She  was  early  astir,  meaning  to  take  the  first  boat 
and  so  escape  all  disagreeable  rencontres^  and  having 
kissed  the  children  in  their  little  beds,  with  tender 
promises  not  to  forget  them,  she  took  a  hasty  breakfast 
and  stepped  into  the  carriage  waiting  at  the  door.    The 


GOVERNESS.  91 

sleepy  waiters  stared,  a  friendly  housemaid  nodded, 
and  Miss  Walker,  the  hearty  English  lady  who  did  her 
ten  miles  a  day,  cried  out,  as  she  tramped  by,  blooming 
and  bedraggled  : 

"  Bless  me,  are  you  off  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thank  Heaven ! "  answered  Christie ;  but  as 
she  spoke  Mr.  Fletcher  came  down  the  steps  looking  as 
wan  and  heavy-eyed  as  if  a  sleepless  night  had  been 
added  to  his  day's  defeat.  Leaning  in  at  the  window, 
he  asked  abruptly,  but  with  a  look  she  never  could 
forget : 

"  Will  nothing  change  your  answer,  Christie  ?  " 

"Nothing." 

His  eyes  said,  "  Forgive  me,"  but  his  lips  only  said, 
"  Good-by,"  and  the  carriage  rolled  away. 

Then,  being  a  woman,  two  great  tears  fell  on  the 
hand  still  red  with  the  lingering  gi-asp  he  had  given  it, 
and  Christie  said,  as  pitifully  as  if  she  loved  him : 

"  He  has  got  a  heart,  after  all,  and  perhaps  I  might 
have  been  glad  to  fill  it  if  he  had  only  shown  it  to  me 
sooner.    Now  it  is  too  late." 


CHAPTER  V. 

COMPAiaON. 

BEFORE  she  had  time  to  find  a  new  situation, 
Christie  received  a  note  from  Miss  Tudor,  saying 
that  hearing  she  had  left  INJj-s.  Saltonstall  she  wanted 
to  offer  her  the  place  of  companion  to  an  invalid  girl, 
where  the  duties  were  hght  and  the  compensation  large. 

"How  kind  of  her  to  think  of  me,"  said  Christie, 
gratefully.  "I'll  go  at  once  and  do  my  best  to  secure 
it,  for  it  must  be  a  good  thing  or  she  wouldn't  recom- 
mend it." 

Away  went  Christie  to  the  address  sent  by  Miss 
Tudor,  and  as  she  waited  at  the  door  she  thought : 

"  What  a  happy  family  the  Carrols  must  be !  "  for  the 
house  was  one  of  an  imposing  block  in  a  West  End 
square,  which  had  its  own  little  park  where  a  fountain 
sparkled  in  the  autumn  sunshine,  and  pretty  children 
played  among  the  fallen  leaves. 

Mrs.  Carrol  was  a  stately  woman,  still  beautiful  in 
spite  of  her  fifty  years.  But  though  there  were  few 
lines  on  her  forehead,  few  silver  threads  in  the  dark 
hah*  that  lay  smoothly  over  it,  and  a  gracious  smile 
showed  the  fine  teeth,  an  indescribable  expression  of 
unsubmissive  sorrow  touched  the  whole  face,  betraying 
that  life  had  brought  some  heavy  cross,  from  which  her 


COMPANION.  93 

wealth  could  purchase  no  release,  for  which  her  pride 
could  find  no  effectual  screen. 

She  looked  at  Christie  with  a  searching  eye,  listened 
attentively  when  she  spoke,  and  seemed  testing  her 
with  covert  care  as  if  the  place  she  was  to  fill  demanded 
some  unusual  gift  or  skill. 

"  Miss  Tudor  tells  me  that  you  read  aloud  well,  sing 
sweetly,  possess  a  cheerful  temper,  and  the  quiet,  patient 
ways  which  are  peculiarly  grateful  to  an  invalid,"  began 
Mrs.  Carrol,  with  that  keen  yet  wistful  gaze,  and  an 
anxious  accent  in  her  voice  that  went  to  Christie's 
heart. 

«  Miss  Tudor  is  very  kind  to  think  so  well  of  me  and 
my  few  accomplishments.  I  have  never  been  with  an 
invalid,  but  I  think  I  can  promise  to  be  patient,  willing, 
and  cheerful.  My  own  experience  of  illness  has  taught 
me  how  to  sympathize  with  others  and  love  to  lighten 
pain.  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  try  if  you  think  I  have 
any  fitness  for  the  place." 

"  I  do,"  and  Mrs.  Carrol's  face  softened  as  she  spoke, 
for  something  in  Christie's  words  or  manner  seemed  to 
please  her.  Then  slowly,  as  if  the  task  was  a  hard  one, 
she  added: 

"  My  daughter  has  been  very  ill  and  is  still  weak  and 
nervous.  I'must  hint  to  you  that  the  loss  of  one  very 
dear  to  her  was  the  cause  of  the  illness  and  the  melan- 
choly which  now  oppresses  her.  Therefore  we  must 
avoid  any  thing  that  can  suggest  or  recall  this  trouble. 
She  cares  for  nothing  as  yet,  will  see  no  one,  and  pre- 
fers to  live  alone.  She  is  still  so  feeble  this  is  but 
natural;  yet  solitude  is  bad  for  her,  and  her  physician 
thinks  that  a  new  face  might  rouse  her,  and  the  society 


94  WORK. 

of  one  in  no  way  connected  with  the  painful  past  might 
interest  and  do  her  good.  You  see  it  is  a  little  difficult 
to  find  just  what  we  want,  for  a  young  companion  is 
best,  yet  must  be  discreet  and  firm,  as  few  young  peoj)le 
are." 

Fancying  from  Mrs.  Carrol's  manner  that  Miss  Tudor 
had  said  more  in  her  favor  than  had  been  repeated  to 
her,  Christie  in  a  few  plain  words  told  her  Uttle  story, 
resolving  to  have  no  concealments  here,  and  feeling 
that  perhaps  her  experiences  might  have  given  her 
more  firmness  and  discretion  than  many  women  of  her 
age  possessed.  Mrs.  Carrol  seemed  to  find  it  so ;  the 
anxious  look  lifted  a  little  as  she  listened,  and  when 
Christie  ended  she  said,  with  a  sigh  of  relief: 

"  Yes,  I  think  Miss  Tudor  is  right,  and  you  are  the 
one  we  want.  Come  and  try  it  for  a  week  and  then  we 
can  decide.  Can  you  begin  to-day?"  she  added,  as 
Christie  rose.  "Every  hour  is  precious,  for  my  poor 
girl's  sad  solitude  w^eighs  on  my  heart,  and  this  is  my 
one  hope." 

"I  will  stay  with  pleasure,"  answered  Christie, think- 
ing Mrs.  Carrol's  anxiety  excessive,  yet  pitying  the 
mother's  pain,  for  something  in  her  face  suggested  the 
idea  that  she  reproached  herself  in  some  way  for  her 
daughter's  state. 

With  secret  gratitude  that  she  had»dressed  with  care, 
Christie  took  off  her  things  and  followed  Mrs.  Carrol 
upstairs.  Entering  a  room  in  what  seemed  to  be  a 
wing  of  the  great  house,  they  found  an  old  woman 
sewing. 

"  How  is  Helen  to-day,  Nm-se  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  CaiTol, 
pausing. 


COMPANION.  95 

"  Poorly,  ma'am.  I  've  been  in  every  hour,  but  she 
only  says :  *  Let  me  be  quiet,'  and  lies  looking  up  at  the 
picture  till  it's  lit  to  break  your  heart  to  see  her," 
answered  the  woman,  with  a  shake  of  the  head. 

"  I  have  brought  Miss  Devon  to  sit  with  her  a  little 
while.  Doctor  advises  it,  and  I  fancy  the  experiment 
may  succeed  if  we  can  only  amuse  the  dear  child,  and 
make  her  forget  herself  and  her  troubles." 

"  As  you  please,  ma'am,"  said  the  old  woman,  look- 
ing with  little  favor  at  the  new-comer,  for  the  good  soul 
was  jealous  of  any  interference  between  herself  and 
the  child  she  had  tended  for  years. 

"  I  won't  disturb  her,  but  you  shall  take  Miss  Devon 
in  and  tell  Helen  mamma  sends  her  love,  and  hopes 
she  will  make  an  effort  for  all  our  sakes." 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Go,  my  dear,  and  do  your  best."  With  these  words 
Mrs.  Carrol  hastily  left  the  room,  and  Christie  followed 
Nurse. 

A  quick  glance  showed  her  that  she  was  in  the  dain- 
tily furnished  boudoir  of  a  rich  man's  daughter,  but 
before  she  could  take  a  second  look  her  eyes  were 
arrested  by  the  occupant  of  this  pretty  place,  and  she 
forgot  all  else.  On  a  low  luxurious  ©ouch  lay  a  girl,  so 
beautiful  and  pale  and  still,  that  for  an  instant  Christie 
thought  her  dead  or  sleeping.  She  was  neither,  for  at 
the  sound  of  a  voice  the  great  eyes  opened  wide,  dark- 
ening and  dilating  with  a  strange  expression  as  they 
fell  on  the  unfamiliar  face. 

"  Nurse,  who  is  that  ?  I  told  you  I  would  see  no 
one.  I  'm  too  ill  to  be  so  worried,"  she  said,  in  an  im- 
perious tone. 


96 


WORK. 


C         ; '    ,  '  i  ;;  N|      ) 


HELEN   CARROL. 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  know,  but  your  mamma  wished  you  to 
make  an  eiFort.  Miss  Devon  is  to  sit  with  you  and  try 
to  cheer  you  up  a  bit,"  said  the  old  woman  in  a  dissat- 
isfied tone,  that  contrasted  strangely  with  the  tender 
way  in  which  she  stroked  the  beautiful  disordered  hair 
that  hung  about  the  girl's  shoulders. 

Helen  knit  her  brows  and  looked  most  ungracious, 
but  evidently  tried  to  be  civil,  for  with  a  courteous 
wave  of  her  hand  toward  an  easy  chair  in  the  sunny 
window  she  said,  quietly : 


COMPANION.  97 

"  Please  sit  dowTi,  Miss  Devon,  and  excuse  me  for  a 
little  while.  I  've  had  a  bad  night,  and  am  too  tired  to 
talk  just  yet.  There  are  books  of  all  sorts,  or  the  con- 
servatoryi  if  you  like  it  better." 

"Thank  you.  I'll  read  quietly  till  you  want  me. 
Then  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  do  any  thing  I  can  for 
you." 

With  that  Christie  retired  to  the  big  chair,  and  fell 
to  reading  the  first  book  she  took  up,  a  good  deal  em- 
barrassed by  her  reception,  and  very  curious  to  know 
what  would  come  next. 

The  old  woman  went  away  after  folding  the  down 
coverlet  carefully  over  her  darling's  feet,  and  Helen 
seemed  to  go  to  sleep. 

For  a  time  the  room  was  very  still ;  the  fire  burned 
sollly  on  the  marble  hearth,  the  sun  shone  warmly  on 
velvet  carpet  and  rich  hangings,  the  dehcate  breath  of 
flowers  blew  in  through  the  halt^open  door  that  led  to 
a  gay  little  conservatory,  and  nothing  but  the  roll  of  a 
distant  carriage  broke  the  silence  now  and  then. 

Christie's  eyes  soon  wandered  from  her  book  to  the 
lovely  face  and  motionless  figure  on  the  couch.  Just 
opposite,  in  a  recess,  hung  the  portrait  of  a  young  and 
handsome  man,  and  below  it  stood  a  vase  of  flowers,  a 
graceful  Roman  lamp,  and  several  little  relics,  as  if  it 
were  the  shrine  where  some  dead  love  was  mourned 
and  worshi})ped  still. 

As  she  looked  from  the  living  face,  so  pale  and  so 
pathetic  in  its  quietude,  to  the  painted  one  so  full  of 
color,  strength,  and  happiness,  her  heart  ached  for  poor 
Helen,  and  her  eyes  were  wet  with  tears  of  pity.  A 
sudden  movement  on  the  couch  gave  her  no  time  to 


yS  WOBE. 

hide  them,  and  as  she  hastily  looked  down  npon  her 
book  a  treacherous  drop  fell  glittering  on  the  page. 

"  What  have  you  there  so  interesting  ?  "  asked  Helen, 
in  that  softly  imperious  tone  of  hers. 

"  Don  Quixote,"  answered  Christie,  too  much  abashed 
to  have  her  wits  about  her. 

Helen  smiled  a  melancholy  smile  as  she  rose,  saying 
wearily : 

"  They  gave  me  that  to  make  me  laugh,  but  I  did  not 
find  it  funny;  neither  was  it  sad  enough  to  make  me 
cry  as  you  do." 

"  I  was  not  reading,  I  was  "  —  there  Christie  broke 
down,  and  could  have  cried  with  vexation  at  the  bad 
beginning  she  had  made.  But  that  involuntary  tear 
was  better  balm  to  Helen  than  the  most  peifect  tact, 
the  most  brilliant  conversation.  It  touched  and  won 
her  without  words,  for  sympathy  works  miracles.  Her 
whole  face  changed,  and  her  mournful  eyes  grew  soft 
as  with  the  gentleJVeedom  of  a  child  she  lifted  Chris- 
tie's downcast  flace  and  said,  with  a  falter  in  her  voice : 

"  I  know  you  were  pitying  me.  Well,  I  need  pity,  and 
from  you  I  '11  take  it,  because  you  don't  force  it  on  me. 
Have  yoti  been  ill  and  wretched  too?  I  think  so,  else 
you  would  never  care  to  come  and  shut  yourself  up 
here  with  me !  " 

"  I  have  been  ill,  and  I  know  how  hard  it  is  to  get 
one's  spirits  back  again.  I've  had  my  troubles,  too, 
but  not  heavier  than  I  could  bear,  thank  God." 

"  What  made  you  ill  ?  Would  you  mind  telling  me 
about  it  ?  I  seem  to  fancy  hearing  other  people's  woes, 
though  it  can't  make  mine  seem  lighter." 

"  A  piece  of  the  Castle  of  the  Sun  fell  on  my  head 


COMPANION.  99 

and  nearly  killed  me,"  and  Christie  laughed  in  spite  of 
herself  at  the  astonishment  in  Helen's  face.  "  I  was 
an  actress  once  ;  your  mother  knows  and  didn't  mind," 
she  added,  quickly. 

"  I  'm  glad  of  that.  I  used  to  wish  I  could  be  one,  I 
was  so  fond  of  the  theatre.  They  should  have  con- 
sented, it  would  have  given  me  something  to  do,  and, 
however  hard  it  is,  it  couldn't  be  worse  than  this." 
Helen  spoke  vehemently  and  an  excited  flush  rose  to 
her  white  cheeks ;  then  she  checked  herself  and  dropped 
into  a  chair,  saying,  hurriedly  : 

"  Tell  about  it :  don't  let  me  think ;  it 's  bad  for  me." 

Glad  to  be  set  to  work,  and  bent  on  retrieving  her 
first  mistake,  Christie  plunged  into  her  theatrical  experi- 
ences and  talked  aAvay  in'  her  most  lively  style.  People 
usually  get  eloquent  when  telling  their  owii  stories, 
and  true  tales  are  always  the  most  interesting.  Helen 
listened  at  first  with  a  half-absent  air,  but  i)resently 
grew  more  attentive,  and  when  the  catastrophe  came 
sat  erect,  quite  absorbed  in  the  interest  of  this  glimpse 
behind  the  curtain. 

Charmed  with  her  success,  Christie  branched  ofi"  right 
and  left,  stimulated  by  questions,  led  on  by  suggestive 
incidents,  and  generously  supplied  by  memory.  Before 
she  knew  it,  she  was  telling  her  whole  history  in  the 
most  expansive  manner,  for  women  soon  get  sociable 
together,  and  Helen's  interest  flatterefl  her  immensely. 
Once  she  made  her  laugh  at  some  droll  trifle,  and  as  if 
the  unaccustomed  sound  had  startled  her,  old  nurse 
popped  in  her  head  ;  but  seeing  nothing  amiss  retired, 
wonderinc:  what  on  earth  that  Grirl  could  be  doinor  to 
cheer  up  ^Miss  Helen  so. 


100  WORK. 

"  Tell  about  your  lovers :  you  must  have  had  some ; 
actresses  always  do.  Happy  women,  they  can  love  as 
they  like !  "  said  Helen,  with  the  inquisitive  frankness 
of  an  invalid  for  whom  etiquette  has  ceased  to  exist. 

Remembering  in  time  tliat  this  was  a  forbidden  sub- 
ject, Christie  smiled  and  shook  her  head. 

"  I  had  a  few,  but  one  does  not  tell  those  secrets,  you 
know." 

Evidently  disappointed,  and  a  little  displeased  at 
being  reminded  of  her  want  of  good-breeding,  Helen 
got  up  and  began  to  wander  restlessly  about  the  room. 
Presently,  as  if  wishing  to  atone  for  her  impatience, 
she  bade  Christie  come  and  see  her  flowers.  Following 
her,  the  new  companion  found  herself  in  a  little  world 
where  perpetual  summer  reigned.  Vines  curtained  the 
roof,  slender  shrubs  and  trees  made  leafy  walls  on  either^ 
side,  flowers  bloomed  above  and  below,  birds  carolled 
in  half-hidden  prisons,  aquariums  and  ferneries  stood 
all  about,  and  the  soft  plash  of  a  little  fountain  made 
l^leasant  music  as  it  rose  and  fell. 

Helen  threw  herself  wearily  down  on  a  pile  of  cush- 
ions that  lay  beside  the  basin,  and  beckoning  Christie 
to  sit  near,  said,  as  she  pressed  her  hands  to  her  hot 
forehead  and  looked  up  with  a  distressful  brightness  in 
the  haggard  eyes  that  seemed  to  have  no  rest  in  them : 

''  Please  sing  to  me ;  any  humdrum  air  will  do.  I 
am  so  tired,  and  yet  I  cannot  sleep.  If  my  head  would 
only  stop  this  dreadful  thinking  and  let  me  forget  one 
hour  it  would  do  me  so  much  good." 

"  I  know  the  feeling,  and  I  '11  try  what  Lucy  used  to 
do  to  quiet  me.  Put  your  poor  head  in  my  lap,  dear, 
and  lie  quite  still  while  I  cool  and  comfort  it." 


COMPANION.  101 

Obeying  like  a  worn-out  child,  Helen  lay  motionless 
while  Cliristie,  dii)})ing  her  fingers  in  the  basin,  passed 
the  wet  tii)s  softly  to  and  fro  across  the  hot  forehead, 
and  the  thin  temples  where  the  pulses  throbbed  so  fast. 
And  while  she  soothed  she  sang  the  "  Land  o'  the  Leal," 
and  sang  it  well ;  for  the  tender  words,  the  plaintive 
air  were  dear  to  her,  because  her  mother  loved  and 
sang  it  to  her  years  ago.  Slowly  the  heavy  eyelids 
drooped,  slowly  the  lines  of  pain  were  smoothed  away 
from  the  broad  brow,  slowly  tlie  restless  hands  grew 
still,  and  Helen  lay  asleep. 

So  intent  upon  her  task  was  Christie,  that  she  forgot 
Iierself  till  the  discomfort  of  her  position  reminded  her 
that  she  had  a  body.  Fearing  to  wake  the  poor  girl  in 
her  arms,  she  tried  to  lean  against  the  basin,  but  could 
not  reach  a  cushion  to  lay  upon  the  cold  stone  ledge. 
An  unseen  hand  supplied  the  want,  and,  looking  round, 
she  saw  two  young  men  standing  behind  her. 

Helen's  brothers,  without  doubt ;  for,  though  utterly 
unlike  in  expression,  some  of  the  family  traits  were 
strongly  marked  in  both.  The  elder  wore  the  dress  of 
a  priest,  had  a  pale,  ascetic  face,  with  melancholy  eyes, 
stern  mouth,  and  the  absent  air  of  one  who  l^ads  an 
inward  life.  The  younger  had  a  more  attractive  face, 
for,  though  bearing  marks  of  dissipation,  it  betrayed  a 
generous,  ardent  nature,  proud  and  wilful,  yet  lovable 
in  spite  of  all  defects.  He  was  very  boyish  still,  and 
plainly  showed  how  much  he  felt,  as,  with  a  hasty  nod 
to  Christie,  he  knelt  down  beside  his  sister,  saying,  in  a 
whisper : 

"  Look  at  her,  Augustine !  so  beautiful,  so  quiet ! 
What  a  comfort  it  is  to  see  her  like  herself  again." 


102  WORK. 

"  Ah,  yes  ;  and  but  for  the  sin  of  it,  I  could  find  it  in 
my  heart  to  wish  she  might  never  wake  I  "  returned  the 
other,  gloomily. 

"  Don't  say  that !  How  could  we  live  without  her  ?  " 
Then,  turning  to  Christie,  the  younger  said,  in  a  friendly 
tone : 

"  You  must  be  very  tired  ;  let  us  lay  her  on  the  sofa. 
It  is  vei-y  damp  here,  and  if  she  sleej^s  long  you  will 
faint  from  weariness." 

Carefully  lifting  her,  the  brothers  carried  the  sleeping 
girl  into  her  room,  and  laid  her  down.  She  sighed 
as  her  head  touched  the  pillow,  and  her  arm  clung  to 
Harry's  neck,  as  if  she  felt  his  nearness  even  in  sleep. 
He  put  his  cheek  to  hers,  and  lingered  over  her  with 
an  affectionate  solicitude  beautiful  to  see.  Augustine 
stood  silent,  grave  and  cold  as  if  he  had  done  with 
human  ties,  yet  found  it  hard  to  sever  this  one,  for  he 
stretched  his  hand  above  his  sister  as  if  he  blessed  her, 
then,  with  another  grave  bow  to  Chiistie,  Avent  away 
as  noiselessly  as  he  had  come.  But  Harry  kissed  the 
sleeper  tenderly,  whispered,  "  Be  kind  to  her,"  with  an 
imploring  voice,  and  hurried  from  the  room  as  if  to 
hide  the  feeling  that  he  must  not  show. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  nurse  brought  in  a  note  from 
Mrs.  Carrol. 

"  My  son  tells  me  that  Helen  is  asleep,  and  you  look 
very  tired.  Leave  her  to  Hester,  now ;  you  have  done 
enough  to-day,  so  let  me  thank  you  heartily,  and  send 
you  home  for  a  quiet  night  before  you  continue  your 
good  work  to-morrow." 

Christie  went,  found  a  carriage  waiting  for  her,  and 
drove  home  very  happy  at  the  success  of  her  first 
attempt  at  companionship. 


COMPANION.  103 

The  next  day  she  entered  upon  the  new  duties  with 
interest  and  good-will,  for  this  was  work  in  which  heart 
took  part,  as  well  as  head  and  hand.  Many  things 
surprised,  and  some  things  peri)lexed  her,  as  she  came 
to  know  the  family  better.  But  she  discreetly  held  her 
tongue,  used  her  eyes,  and  did  her  best  to  please. 

!Mrs.  Carrol  seemed  satisfied,  often  thanked  her  for 
her  faithfulness  to  Helen,  but  seldom  visited  her  dau2:h- 
ter,  never  seemed  surprised  or  grieved  that  the  girl 
expressed  no  wish  to  see  her;  and,  though  her  hand- 
some face  always  wore  its  gracious  smile,  Christie  soon 
felt  very  sure  that  it  was  a  mask  put  on  to  hide  some 
heavy  sorrow  from  a  curious  world. 

Augustine  never  came  except  when  Helen  was  asleep : 
then,  like  a  shadow,  he  passed  in  and  out,  always  silent, 
cold,  and  grave,  but  in  his  eyes  the  gloom  of  some 
remorseful  pain  that  prayers  and  penances  seemed  pow- 
erless to  heal. 

Harry  came  every  day,  and  no  matter  how  melan- 
choly, listless,  or  irritable  his  sister  might  be,  for  him 
she  always  had  a  smile,  an  affectionate  gi-eeting,  a  word 
of  praise,  or  a  tender  warning  against  the  reckless  spirit 
that  seemed  to  possess  him.  The  love  between  them 
was  very  strong,  and  Christie  found  a  never-failing 
pleasure  in  watching  them  together,  for  then  Helen 
showed  what  she  once  had  been,  and  Harry  was  his  best 
self.  A  boy  still,  in  spite  of  his  one-and-twenty  years, 
he  seemed  to  feel  that  Helen's  room  was  a  safe  refuge 
from  the  temptations  that  beset  one  of  his  thoughtless 
and  impetuous  nature.  Here  he  came  to  confess  his 
faults  and  follies  with  the  frankness  which  is  half  sad, 
half  comical,  and  wholly  charming  in  a  good-hearted 


104  WORK. 

young  scatter-brain.  Here  he  brought  gay  gossip,  lively 
descriptions,  and  masculine  criticisms  of  the  world  he 
moved  in.  All  his  hopes  and  plans,  joys  and  sorrows, 
successes  and  defeats,  he  told  to  Helen.  And  she,  poor 
soul,  in  this  one  happy  love  of  her  sad  life,  forgot  a 
little  the  burden  of  despair  that  darkened  all  the  world 
to  her.  For  his  sake  she  smiled,  to  him  she  talked 
when  others  got  no  word  from  her,  and  HaiTy's  salva- 
tion was  the  only  duty  that  she  owned  or  tried  to  fulfil. 

A  younger  sister  was  away  at  school,  but  the  others 
seldom  spoke  of  her,  and  Christie  tired  herself  with 
wondering  why  Bella  never  wrote  to  Helen,  and  why 
Harry  seemed  to  have  nothing  but  a  gloomy  sort  of 
pity  to  bestow  upon  the  blooming  girl  whose  picture 
hung  in  the  great  drawing-room  below. 

It  was  a  very  quiet  winter,  yet  a  very  pleasant  one 
to  Christie,  for  she  felt  herself  loved  and  trusted,  saw 
that  she  suited,  and  believed  that  she  was  doing  good, 
as  women  best  love  to  do  it,  by  bestowing  sympathy 
and  care  with  generous  devotion. 

Helen  and  Harry  loved  her  like  an  elder  sister; 
Augustine  showed  that  he  was  grateful,  and  Mrs.  Car- 
rol sometimes  forgot  to  put  on  her  mask  before  one  who 
seemed  fast  becoming  confidante  as  well  as  companion. 

In  the  spring  the  family  went  to  the  fine  old  country- 
house  just  out  of  town,  and  here  Christie  and  her 
charge  led  a  freer,  happier  life.  Walking  and  driving, 
boating  and  gardening,  with  pleasant  days  on  the  wide 
terrace,  where  Helen  swung  idly  in  her  hammock,  while 
Christie  read  or  talked  to  her ;  and  summer  twihghts 
beguiled  with  music,  or  the  silent  reveries  more  elo- 
quent  than   speech,  which  real  friends  may  enjoy  to- 


COMPANION.  105 

gether,  and  find  the  sweeter  for  the  mute  comT)anion- 
ship. 

Harry  was  with  them,  and  devoted  to  his  sister,  who 
seemed  slowly  to  be  coming  out  of  her  sad  gloom,  won 
by  patient  tenderness  and  the  cheerful  influences  all 
about  her. 

Christie's  heart  was  full  of  pride  and  satisfaction,  as 
she  saw  the  altered  face,  heard  the  tone  of  interest  in 
that  once  hopeless  voice,  and  felt  each  day  more  sure 
that  Helen  had  outlived  the  loss  that  seemed  to  have 
broken  her  heart. 

Alas,  for  Christie's  pride,  for  Harry's  hope,  and  for 
poor  Helen's  bitter  fate  !  When  all  was  brightest,  the 
black  shadow  came ;  when  all  looked  safest,  danger 
was  at  hand ;  and  when  the  past  seemed  buried,  the 
ghost  which  haunted  it  returned,  for  the  punishment 
of  a  broken  law  is  as  inevitable  as  death. 

When  settled  in  town  again  Bella  came  home,  a  gay, 
young  girl,  who  should  have  brought  sunshine  and  hap- 
piness into  her  home.  But  from  the  hour  she  returned 
a  strange  anxiety  seemed  to  possess  the  others.  Mrs. 
Carrol  watched  over  her  with  sleepless  care,  was  evi- 
dently full  of  maternal  pride  in  the  lovely  creature,  and 
began  to  dream  dreams  about  her  future.  She  seemed 
to  wish  to  keep  the  sisters  apart,  and  said  to  Christie, 
as  if  to  explain  this  wish  : 

"  Bella  was  away  when  Helen's  trouble  and  illness 
came,  she  knows  very  little  of  it,  and  I  do  not  want 
her  to  be  saddened  by  the  knowledge.  Helen  cares 
only  for  Hal,  and  Bella  is  too  young  to  be  of  any  use 
to  my  poor  girl ;  therefore  the  less  they  see  of  each 
other  the  better  for  both.  I  am  sure  you  agree  with 
5* 


106  WORK. 

me  ?  "  she  added,  with  that  covert  scrutiny  which  Chris- 
tie had  often  felt  before. 

She  could  but  acquiesce  in  the  mother's  decision,  and 
devote  herself  more  faithfully  than  ever  to  Helen,  who 
soon  needed  all  her  care  and  patience,  for  a  terrible 
nnrest  grew^  upon  her,  bringing  sleepless  nights  again, 
moody  days,  and  all  the  old  afflictions  w^ith  redoubled 
force. 

Bella  "  came  out "  and  began  her  career  as  a  beauty 
and  a  belle  most  brilliantly.  Harry  was  proud  of  her, 
but  seemed  jealous  of  other  men's  admiration  for  his 
charming  sister,  and  would  excite  both  Helen  and  him- 
self over  the  flirtations  into  which  "  that  child  "  as  they 
called  her,  plunged  with  all  the  zest  of  a  light-hearted 
girl  whose  head  was  a  little  turned  with  sudden  and 
excessive  adoration. 

In  vain  Christie  begged  Harry  not  to  report  these 
things,  in  vain  she  hinted  that  Bella  had  better  not 
come  to  show  herself  to  Helen  night  after  night  in  all 
the  dainty  splendor  of  her  youth  and  beauty ;  in  vain 
she  asked  Mrs.  Carrol  to  let  her  go  away  to  some 
quieter  place  w'ith  Helen,  since  she  never  CQuld  be  jDer- 
suadcd  to  join  in  any  gayety  at  home  or  abroad.  All 
seemed  wilful,  blind,  or  governed  by  the  fear  of  the 
gossiping  world.  So  the  days  rolled  on  till  an  event 
occurred  which  enlightened  Christie,  with  startling 
abruptness,  and  showed  her  the  skeleton  that  haunted 
this  unhappy  family. 

Going  in  one  morning  to  Helen  she  found  her  walk- 
ing to  and  fro  as  she  often  walked  of  late,  with  hurried 
steps  and  excited  face  as  if  driven  by  some  power 
bevond  her  control. 


COMPANION.  107 

"  Good  morning:,  clear.  I  'm  so  sorry  you  had  a  rest- 
less night,  and  wish  you  had  sent  for  me.  Will  you 
come  out  now  for  an  early  drive  ?  It 's  a  lovely  day, 
and  your  mother  thinks  it  would  do  you  good,"  began 
Christie,  troubled  by  the  state  in  wdiich  she  found  the 
girl. 

But  as  she  spoke  Helen  turned  on  her,  crying  pas- 
sionately : 

"  My  mother !  don't  speak  of  her  to  me,  I  hate  her  ! " 

"  Oh,  Helen,  don't  say  that.  Forgive  and  forget  if 
she  has  displeased  you,  and  don't  exhaust  yourself  by 
brooding  over  it.  Come,  deai',  and  let  us  soothe  our- 
selves with  a  little  music.  I  want  to  hear  that  new 
song  again,  though  I  can  never  hope  to  sing  it  as  you 
do." 

"  Sing ! "  echoed  Helen,  with  a  shrill  laugh,  "  you 
don't  know  what  you  ask.  Could  you  sing  when  your 
heart  w^as  heavy  with  the  knowledge  of  a  sin  about  to 
be  committed  by  those  nearest  to  you  ?  Don't  try  to 
quiet  me,  I  must  talk  whether  you  listen  or  not ;  I  shall 
go  frantic  if  I  don't  tell  some  one ;  all  the  world  will 
know  it  soon.  Sit  down,  I  '11  not  hurt  you,  but  don't 
thwart  me  or  you'll  be  sorry  for  it." 

Speaking  with  a  vehemence  that  left  her  breathless, 
Helen  thrust  Christie  down  upon  a  seat,  and  went  on 
with  an  expression  in  her  face  that  bereft  the  listener 
of  power  to  move  or  speak. 

"  Harry  has  just  told  me  of  it ;  he  was  very  angry, 
and  I  saw  it,  and  made  him  tell  me.  Poor  boy,  he  can 
keep  nothing  from  7ne.  I've  been  dreading  it,  and 
now  it 's  coming.  You  don't  know  it,  then  ?  Young 
Butler  is   in  love   with  Bella,  and  no   one  has. pre- 


108  WOEK. 

vented  it.  Think  how  wicked  when  such  a  curse  is  on 
us  all." 

The  question,  "  "What  curse  ?  "  rose  involuntarily  to 
Christie's  lips,  but  did  not  pass  them,  for,  as  if  she  read 
the  thought,  Helen  answered  it  in  a  whisper  that  made 
the  blood  tingle  in  the  other's  veins,  so  full  of  ominous 
suggestion  was  it. 

"  The  curse  of  insanity  I  mean.  We  are  all  mad,  or 
shall  be ;  we  come  of  a  mad  race,  and  for  years  we 
have  gone  recklessly  on  bequeathing  this  awful  inheri- 
tance to  our  descendants.  It  should  end  with  us,  we 
are  the  last ;  none  of  us  should  marry  ;  none  dare  think 
of  it  but  Bella,  and  she  knows  nothing.  She  must  be 
told,  she  must  be  kept  from  the  sin  of  deceiving  her 
lover,  the  agony  of  seeing  her  children  become  what  I 
am,  and  what  we  all  may  be." 

Here  Helen  wrung  her  hands  and  paced  the  room  in 
such  a  paroxysm  of  impotent  despair  that  Christie  sat 
bewildered  and  aghast,  wondering  if  this  were  true,  or 
but  the  fancy  of  a  troubled  brain.  Mrs.  Carrol's  face 
and  manner  returned  to  her  with  sudden  vividness,  so 
did  Augustine's  gloomy  expression,  and  the  strange 
wish  uttered  over  his  sleeping  sister  long  ago.  Harry's 
reckless,  aimless  life  might  be  explained  in  this  way; 
and  all  that  had  perplexed  her  through  that  year. 
Every  thing  confirmed  the  belief  that  this  tragical 
assertion  was  true,  and  Christie  covered  up  her  face, 
murmuring,  with   an  involuntary  shiver: 

"My  God,  how  terrible  !  " 

Helen  came  and  stood  before  her  with  such  grief  and 
penitence  in  her  countenance  that  for  a  moment  it  con- 
quered the  despair  that  had  broken  bounds. 


COMPANION.  100 

«  We  should  have  told  you  this  at  first ;  I  longed  to 
do  it,  but  I  was  afraid  you  'd  go  and  lejive  nie.  I  was 
so  lonely,  so  miserable,  Christie.  I  could  not  give  you 
up  when  I  had  learned  to  love  you  ;  and  I  did  learn 
very  soon,  for  no  wretched  creature  ever  needed  help 
and  comfort  more  than  I.  For  your  sake  I  tried  to  be 
quiet,  to  control  my  shattered  nerves,  and  hide  my 
desperate  thoughts.  You  helped  me  very  much,  and 
your  unconsciousness  made  me  doubly  watchful.  For- 
give me  ;  don't  desert  me  now,  for  the  old  horror  may 
be  coming  back,  and  I  w^ant  you  more  than  ever." 

Too  much  moved  to  speak,  Christie  held  out  her 
hands,  with  a  face  full  of  pity,  love,  and  grief.  Poor 
Helen  clung  to  them  as  if  her  only  help  lay  there,  and 
for  a  moment  was  quite  still.  But  not  long ;  the  old 
anguish  was  too  sharp  to  be  borne  in  silence ;  the  relief 
of  confidence  once  tasted  w^as  too  great  to  be  denied ; 
and,  breaking  loose,  she  went  to  and  fro  again,  pouring 
out  the  bitter  secret  which  had  been  weighing  upon 
heart  and  conscience  for  a  year. 

"  You  wonder  that  I  hate  my  mother ;  let  me  tell 
you  why.  When  she  was  beautiful  and  young  she 
married,  knowing  the  sad  history  of  my  father's  family. 
He  was  rich,  she  poor  and  proud ;  ambition  made  her 
wicked,  and  she  did  it  after  being  warned  that,  though 
he  might  escape,  his  children  were  sure  to  inherit  the 
curse,  for  when  one  generation  goes  free  it  fills  more 
heavily  upon  the  rest.  She  knew  it  all,  and  yet  she 
married  him.  I  have  her  to  thank  for  all  I  suffer,  and 
I  cannot  love  her  though  she  is  my  mother.  It  may  be 
WTong  to  say  these  things,  but  they  are  true;  they 
bui-n  in  my  heart,  and  I  must  speak  out ;  for  I  tell  you 


110  WOBK. 

there  comes  a  time  Avlicn  chiklren  judge  their  parents 
as  men  and  women,  in  spite  of  filial  duty,  and  woe  to 
those  whose  actions  change  affection  and  respect  to 
hatred  or  contempt." 

The  bitter  grief,  the  solemn  fervor  of  her  words,  both 
touched  and  awed  Christie  too  much  for  speech.  Helen 
had  passed  beyond  the  bounds  of  ceremony,  fear,  or 
shame :  her  hard  lot,  her  dark  experience,  set  her  apart, 
and  gave  her  the  right  to  utter  the  bare  truth.  To 
her  heart's  core  Christie  felt  that  warning;  and  for  the 
first  time  saw  what  many  never  see  or  wilfully  deny,  — 
the  awful  responsibility  that  lies  on  every  man  and 
woman's  soul  forbidding  them  to  entail  upon  the  inno- 
cent the  burden  of  their  own  infirmities,  the  curse  that 
surely  follows  their  own  sins. 

Sad  and  stern,  as  an  accusing  angel,  that  most  un- 
hapi^y  daughter  spoke: 

"  If  ever  a  woman  had  cause  to  repent,  it  is  my 
mother;  but  she  will  not,  and  till  she  does,  God  has 
forsaken  us.  Nothing  can  subdue  her  pride,  not  even 
an  affliction  like  mine.  She  hides  the  truth  ;  she  hides 
me,  and  lets  the  world  believe  I  am  dying  of  consump- 
tion ;  not  a  word  about  insanity,  and  no  one  knows  the 
secret  beyond  ourselves,  but  doctor,  nurse,  and  you. 
This  is  why  I  was  not  sent  away,  but  for  a  year  was 
shut  up  in  that  room  yonder  where  the  door  is  always 
locked.  If  you  look  in,  you  '11  see  barred  windows, 
guarded  fire,  muffled  walls,  and  other  sights  to  chill 
your  blood,  when  you  remember  all  those  dreadful 
things  were  meant  for  me." 

"  Don't  speak,  don't  think  of  them  !  Don't  talk  any 
more;  let  me  do  something  to  comfort  you,  for  my 


COMPANION.  Ill 

heart  is  broken  with  all  this,"  cried  Christie,  panic- 
stricken  at  the  jncture  Helen's  words  had  conjured  .ip. 

"  I  must  go  on  !  There  is  no  rest  for  me  till  I  have 
tried  to  lighten  this  burden  by  sharing  it  with  you. 
Let  me  talk,  let  me  wear  myself  out,  then  you  shall 
help  and  comfort  me,  if  there  is  any  help  and  comfort 
for  such  as  I.  Now  I  can  tell  you  all  about  my  Edward, 
and  you  '11  listen,  though  mamma  forbade  it.  Three 
years  ago  my  father  died,  and  we  came  here.  I  ^vas 
well  then,  and  oh,  how  happy  !  " 

Clasping  her  hands  above  her  head,  she  stood  like  a 
beautiful,  pale  image  of  despair ;  tearless  and  mute,  but 
with  such  a  world  of  anguish  in  the  eyes  lifted  to  the 
smiling  picture  opposite  that  it  needed  no  words  to  tell 
the  story  of  a  broken  heart. 

"  How  I  loved  him  !  "  she  said,  softly,  while  her  whole 
face  glowed  for  an  instant  with  the  light  and  warmth 
of  a  deathless  passion.  "  How  I  loved  him,  and  how 
he  loved  me !  Too  well  to  let  me  darken  both  our 
lives  with  a  remorse  which  would  come  too  late  for  a 
just  atonement.  I  thought  him  cruel  then,  —  I  bless 
him  for  it  now.  I  had  far  rather  be  the  innocent  suf- 
ferer I  am,  than  a  wretched  woman  like  my  mother.  I 
shall  never  see  him  any  more,  but  I  know  he  thinks  of 
me  far  away  in  India,  and  when  I  die  one  faithful  heart 
will  remember  me." 

There  her  voice  faltered  and  failed,  and  for  a  moment 
the  fire  of  her  eyes  was  quenched  in  tears.  Christie 
thought  the  reaction  had  come,  and  rose  to  go  and  com- 
fort her.  But  instantly  Helen's  hand  was  on  her  shoul- 
der, and  pressing  her  back  into  her  seat,  she  said,  almost 
fiercely : 


112  WOBK. 

"I'lti  not  done  yet;  you  must  hear  the  whole,  an  1 
help  me  to  save  Bella.  We  knew  nothing  of  the  blight 
that  hung  over  us  till  father  told  Augustine  upon  his 
death-1>ed.  August,  urged  by  mother,  kept  it  to  him- 
self, and  went  away  to  bear  it  as  he  could.  He  should 
have  spoken  out  and  saved  me  in  time.  But  not  till 
he  came  home  and  found  me  engaged  did  he  have 
courage  to  warn  me  of  the  fate  in  store  for  us.  So 
Edward  tore  himself  away,  although  it  broke  his  heart, 
and  I  —  do  you  see  that  ?  " 

"With  a  quick  gesture  she  rent  open  her  dress,  and 
on  her  bosom  Christie  saw  a  scar  that  made  her  turn 
yet  paler  than  before. 

"Yes,  I  tried  to  kill  myself;  but  they  would  not  let 
me  die,  so  the  old  tragedy  of  our  house  begins  again. 
August  became  a  priest,  hoping  to  hide  his  calamity 
and  expiate  his  father's  sin  by  endless  penances  and 
prayers.  Harry  turned  reckless;  for  what  had  he  to 
look  forward  to  ?  A  short  life,  and  a  gay  one,  he  says, 
and  when  his  turn  comes  he  will  spare  himself  long 
suffering,  as  I  tried  to  do  it.  Bella  w^as  never  told ; 
she  was  so  young  they  kept  her  ignorant  of  all  they 
could,  even  the  knowledge  of  my  state.  She  was  long 
away  at  school,  but  now  she  has  come  home,  now  she 
has  learned  to  love,  and  is  going  blindly  as  I  went, 
because  no  one  tells  her  what  she  77iust  know  soon  or 
late.  Mamma  will  not.  August  hesitates,  remember- 
ing me.  Harry  swears  he  will  speak  out,  but  I  implore 
him  not  to  do  it,  for  he  will  be  too  violent ;  and  I  am 
powerless.  I  never  knew  about  this  man  till  Hal  told 
me  to-day.  Bella  only  comes  in  for  a  moment,  and  I 
have  no  chance  to  tell  her  she  must  not  love  him." 


COMPANION,  113 

Pressing  her  hands  to  her  temples,  Helen  resumed 
her  restless  march  again,  but  suddenly  broke  out  more 
violently  than  before : 

"  Now  do  you  wonder  why  I  am  half  frantic  ?  Now 
will  you  ask  me  to  sing  and  smile,  and  sit  calmly  by 
while  this  wrong  goes  on  ?  You  have  done  much  for 
me,  and  God  will  bless  you  for  it,  but  you  cannot  keep 
me  sane.  Death  is  the  only  cure  for  a  mad  Carrol,  and 
I  'm  so  young,  so  strong,  it  will  be  long  in  coming 
unless  I  hurry  it." 

She  clenched  her  hands,  set  her  teeth,  and  looked 
about  her  as  if  ready  for  any  desperate  act  that  should 
set  her  free  from  the  dark  and  dreadful  future  that  lay 
before  her. 

For  a  moment  Christie  feared  and  trembled ;  then 
pity  conquered  fear.  She  forgot  herself,  and  only 
remembered  this  poor  girl,  so  hopeless,  helpless,  and 
afflicted.  Led  by  a  sudden  impulse,  she  put  both  arms 
about  her,  and  held  her  close  with  a  strong  but  silent 
tenderness  better  than  any  bonds.  At  first,  Helen 
seemed  unconscious  of  it,  as  she  stood  rigid  and  motion- 
less, with  her  wild  eyes  dumbly  imploring  help  of  earth 
and  heaven.  Suddenly  both  strength  and  excitement 
seemed  to  leave  her,  and  she  would  have  fallen  but  for 
the  living,  loving  prop  that  sustained  her. 

Still  silent,  Christie  laid  her  down,  kissed  her  white 
lips,  and  busied  herself  about  her  till  she  looked  up 
quite  herself  again,  but  so  wan  and  weak,  it  was  pitiful 
to  see  her. 

"  It 's  over  now,"  she  whispered,  with  a  desolate  sigh. 
"  Sing  to  me,  and  keep  the  evil  spirit  quiet  for  a  little 


114  WOBK. 

while.  To-morrow,  if  I  'm  strong  enough,  we  '11  talk 
about  poor  little  Bella." 

And  Christie  sang,  with  tears  dropping  fast  upon  the 
keys,  that  made  a  soft  accompaniment  to  the  sweet  old 
hymns  which  soothed  this  troubled  soul  as  David's 
music  brought  repose  to  Saul. 

When  Helen  slept  at  last  from  sheer  exhaustion, 
Christie  executed  the  resolution  she  had  made  as  soon 
as  the  excitement  of  that  stormy  scene  was  over.  She 
went  straight  to  Mrs.  Carrol's  room,  and,  undeterred 
by  the  presence  of  her  sons,  told  all  that  had  passed. 
They  were  evidently  not  unprepared  for  it,  thanks  to 
old  Hester,  who  had  overheard  enough  of  Helen's 
wild  words  to  know  that  sometliing  was  amiss,  and 
had  reported  accordingly ;  but  none  of  them  had  v^ent- 
ured  to  interrupt  the  interview,  lest  Helen  should  be 
driA^en  to  desperation  as  before. 

V"  Mother,  Helen  is  right ;  we  should  speak  out,  and 
not  hide  this  bitter  fact  any  longer.  The  world  will 
pity  us,  and  we  must  bear  the  pity,  but  it  would  con- 
demn us  for  deceit,  and  we  should  deserve  the  condem- 
nation if  we  let  this  misery  go  on.  Living  a  lie  will 
ruin  us  all.  Bella  will  be  destroyed  as  Helen  was ;  I 
am  only  the  shadow  of  a  man  now,  and  Hal  is  killing 
himself  as  fast  as  he  can,  to  avoid  the  fate  we  all  dread." 

Augustine  spoke  first,  for  Mrs.  Carrol  sat  speechless 
with  her  trouble  as  Christie  paused. 

"  Keep  to  your  prayers,  and  let  me  go  my  own  way, 
it 's  the  shortest,"  muttered  Harry,  with  his  face  hidden, 
and  his  head  down  on  his  folded  arms. 

"  Boys,  boys,  you  '11  kill  me  if  you  say  such  things  ! 
I  have  more  now  than  I  can  bear.     Don't  drive  me 


COMPANION. 


115 


wild  with  your  reproaches  to  each  other ! "  cried  their 
mother,  her  heart  rent  with  the  remorse  that  came  too 

hite. 

"  No  fear  of  that ;  you  are  not  a  Carrol "  answered 
Harry,  with  the  pitiless  bluntness  of  a  resentful  and 
rebellious  boy. 

Augustine  turned  on  him  with  a  wrathful  flash  of  the 
eye,  and  a  warning  ring  in  his  stern  voice,  as  he  pointed 
to  the  door. 

"  You  shall  not  insult  your  mother  !     Ask  her  pardon, 

or  <xo ! " 

"She  should  ask  mine !  I  '11  go.  When  you  want 
me,  you'll  know  where  to  find  me."  And,  with  a  reck- 
less faugh,  Harry  stormed  out  of  the  room. 

Augustine's  indignant  face  grew  full  of  a  new  trouble 
as  the  door  banged  below,  and  he  pressed  his  thin 
hands  tightly  together,  saying,  as  if  to  himself: 

«  Heaven  help  me  !  Yes,  I  do  know  ;  for,  night  after 
nicrht,  I  find  and  bring  the  poor  lad  home  from  gamb- 
lini^-tables  and  the  hells  where  souls  like  his  are  lost." 

Here  Christie  thought  to  slip  away,  feeling  that  it 
was  no  place  for  her  now  that  her  errand  was  done. 
But  Mrs.   Carrol  called  her  back. 

"  Miss  Devon  —  Christie  —  forgive  me  that  I  did  not 
trust  you  sooner.  It  was  so  hard  to  tell ;  I  hoped  so 
much  from  time ;  I  never  could  believe  that  my  poor 
children  would  be  made  the  victims  of  my  mistake. 
Do  not  forsake  us  :  Helen  loves  you  so.  Stay  with  her, 
I  implore  you,  and  let  a  most  unhappy  mother  plead 
for  a  most  unhappy  child."  Then  Christie  went  to  the 
poor  woman,  and  earnestly  assured  her  of  her  love  and 
loyalty  ;  for  now  she  felt  doubly  bound  to  them  because 
they  trusted  her. 


116  WORK. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  they  said  to  her,  with  pathetic 
submissiou,  tui-ning  like  sick  people  to  a  healthful  soul 
for  help  and  comfort. 

"  Tell  Bella  all  the  truth,  and  help  her  to  refuse  her 
lover.  Do  this  just  thing,  and  God  will  strengthen 
you  to  bear  the  consequences,"  was  her  answer,  though 
she  trembled  at  the  responsibility  they  put  upon  her. 

«  Not  yet,"  cried  Mrs.  Carrol.  "  Let  the  poor  child 
enjoy  the  holidays  with  a  light  heart,  —  then  we  will 
tell  her  ;  and  then  Heaven  help  us  all !  " 

So  it  was  decided  ;  for  only  a  week  or  two  of  the  old 
year  remained,  and  no  one  had  the  heart  to  rob  poor 
Bella  of  the  little  span  of  blissful  ignorance  that  now 
remained  to  her. 

A  terrible  time  was  that  to  Christie ;  for,  while  one 
sister,  blessed  with  beauty,  youth,  love,  and  pleasure, 
tasted  life  at  its  sweetest,  the  other  sat  in  the  black 
shadow  of  a  growing  dread,  and  wearied  Heaven  with 
piteous  prayers  for  her  relief. 

"  The  old  horror  is  coming  back ;  I  feel  it  creeping 
over  me.  Don't  let  it  come,  Christie !  Stay  by  me ! 
Help  me !  Keep  me  sane !  And  if  you  cannot,  ask 
God  to  take  me  quickly !  " 

With  words  like  these,  poor  Helen  clung  to  Christie ; 
and,  soul  and  body,  Christie  devoted  herself  to  the 
afflicted  girl.  She  would  not  see  her  mother ;  and  the 
unhappy  Avoman  haunted  that  closed  door,  hungeiing 
for  the  look,  the  word,  that  never  came  to  her.  Augus- 
tine was  her  consolation,  and,  during  those  troublous 
days,  the  priest  was  forgotten  in  the  son.  But  Harry 
was  all  in  all  to  Helen  then  ;  and  it  was  touching  to 
see  how  these  unfortunate  young  creatures  clung  to  one 


COMPANION.  117 

another,  she  tenderly  trying  to  keep  him  from  the  wild 
lite  that  was  surely  hastening  the  fate  he  might  other- 
wise escape  fur  years,  and  he  patiently  bearing  all  her 
moods,  eager  to  cheer  and  soothe  the  sad  captivity  from 
which  he  could  not  save  her. 

These  tender  ministrations  seemed  to  be  blessed  at 
last;  and  Christie  began  to  hope  the  haunting  terror 
would  pass  by,  as  quiet  gloom  succeeded  to  wild  excite- 
ment. The  cheerful  spirit  of  the  season  seemed  to 
reach  even  that  sad  room ;  and,  in  preparing  gifts  for 
others,  Helen  seemed  to  find  a  little  of  that  best  of  all 
gifts,  —  peace  for  herself. 

On  Xew  Year's  morning,  Christie  found  her  garland- 
ino-  her  lover's  picture  with  white  roses  and  tlie  myrtle 
sprays  brides  wear. 

"These  were  his  favorite  flowers,  and  I  meant  to 
make  my  wedding  wreath  of  this  sweet-scented  myrtle, 
because  he  gave  it  to  me,"  she  said,  with  a  look  that 
made  Christie's  eyes  grow  dim.  "  Don't  grieve  for  me, 
dear;  we  shall  surely  meet  hereafter,  though  so  far 
asunder  here.  Nothing  can  part  us  there,  I  devoutly 
believe ;  for  we  leave  our  burdens  all  behind  us  when 
we  cTor  Then,  in  a  lighter  tone,  she  said,  with  her  arm 
on  Christie's  neck : 

"  This  day  is  to  be  a  happy  one,  no  matter  what 
comes  after  it.  I  'm  going  to  be  my  old  self  for  a  little 
while,  and  forget  there 's  such  a  word  as  sorrow.  Help 
me  to  dress,  so  that  when  the  boys  come  up  they  may 
find  the  sister  Nell  they  have  not  seen  for  two  long 
years." 

"Will  you  wear  this,  my  darling?  Your  mother 
sends  it,  and  she  tried  to  have  it  dainty  and  beautiful 


118  WORK. 

enough  to  please  yon.  See,  your  own  colors,  though 
the  bows  are  only  laid  on  that  they  may  be  changed 
for  others  if  you  like." 

As  she  spoke  Christie  lifted  the  cover  of  the  box  old 
Hester  had  just  brought  in,  and  displayed  a  cashmere 
wrapper,  creamy-white,  silk-lined,  down-trimmed,  and 
delicately  relieved  by  rosy  knots,  like  holly  berries  lying 
upon  snow.  Helen  looked  at  it  without  a  word  for 
several  minutes,  then  gathering  up  the  ribbons,  with  a 
strange  smile,  she  snid  : 

"  I  like  it  better  so ;  but  I  '11  not  wear  it  yet." 

"  Bless  and  save  us,  deary ;  it  must  have  a  bit  of 
color  somewhere,  else  it  looks  just  like  a  shroud,"  cried 
Hester,  and  then  wrung  her  hands  in  dismay  as  Helen 
answered,  quietly: 

"Ah,  well,  keep  it  for  me,  then.  I  shall  be  happier 
when  I  wear  it  so  than  in  the  gayest  gown  I  own,  for 
when  you  put  it  on,  this  poor  head  and  heart  of  mine 
will  be  quiet  at  last." 

]\[otioning  Hester  to  remove  the  box,  Christie  tried 
to  banish  the  cloud  her  unlucky  words  had  brought  to 
Helen's  face,  by  chatting  cheerfully  as  she  helped  her 
make  herself  "  pretty  for  the  boys." 

All  that  day  she  was  unusually  calm  and  sweet,  and 
seemed  to  yield  herself  wholly  to  the  happy  influences 
of  the  hour,  gave  and  received  her  gifts  so  cheerfully 
that  her  brothers  watched  her  with  delight;  and  uncon- 
scious Bella  said,  as  she  hung  about  her  sister,  with 
loving  admiration  in  her  eyes : 

"  I  always  thought  you  would  get  well,  and  now  I  'm 
sure  of  it,  for  you  look  as  you  used  before  I  went  away 
to  school,  and  seem  just  like  our  own  dear  Xell." 


COMPANION.  119 

« I  'm  glad  of  that ;  I  wanted  you  to  feel  ^so,  my 
Bella.  I'll  accept  your  happy  prophecy,  and  hope  I 
may  get  well  soon,  very  soon." 

So  cheerfully  she  spoke,  so  tranquilly  she  smiled, 
that  all  rejoiced  over  her  believing,  with  love's  bhnd- 
ness,  that  she  might  yet  conquer  her  malady  in  spite  of 
their  forebodings. 

It  was  a  very  happy  day  to  Christie,  not  only  that 
she  was  generously  remembered  and  made  one  of  them 
by  all  the  family,  but  because  this  change  for  the  better 
in  Helen  made  her  heart  sing  for  joy.  She  had  given 
time,  health,  and  much  love  to  the  task,  and  ventured 
now  to  hope  they  had  not  been  given  in  vain.  One 
thing  only  marred  her  happiness,  the  sad  estrangement 
of  the  daughter  from  her  mother,  and  that  evening  she 
resolved  to  take  advantage  of  Helen's  tender  mood, 
and  plead  for  the  poor  soul  who  dared  not  plead  for 
herself 

As  the  brothers  and  sisters  said  good-night,  Helen 
clung  to  til  em  as  if  loth  to  part,  saying,  with  each 
embrace : 

"Keep  hoping  for  me,  Bella;  kiss  me,  Harry;  bless 
me,  Augustine,  and  all  wish  for  me  a  happier  New  Year 
than  the  last." 

•  When  they  were  gone  she  wandered  slowly  round 
the  room,  stood  long  before  the  picture  with  its  fading 
garland,  sung  a  little  softly  to  herself,  and  came  at  last 
to  Christie,  saying,  like  a  tired  child : 

"I  have  been  good  all  day;  now  let  me  rest." 

"  One  thing  has  been  forgotten,  dear,"  began  Christie, 
fearing  to  disturb  the  quietude  that  seemed -to  have 
been  so  dearly  bought. 


120  WORK. 

Helen  understood  her,  and  looked  up  with  a  sane 
sweet  face,  out  of  which  all  resentful  bitterness  had 
passed. 

"No,  Christie,  not  forgotten,  only  kept  until  the  last. 
To-day  is  a  good  day  to  forgive,  as  we  would  be  for- 
given, and  I  mean  to  do  it  before  I  sleep."  Then  hold- 
ing Christie  close,  she  added,  -with  a  quiver  of  emotion 
in  her  voice :  "  I  have  no  )j:ords  warm  enough  to  thank 
you,  my  good  angel,  for  all  you  have  been  to  me,  but  I 
know  it  will  give  you  a  great  pleasure  to  do  one  thing 
more.  Give  dear  mamma  my  love,  and  tell  her  that 
when  I  am  quiet  for  the  night  I  want  her  to  come  and 
get  me  to  sleep  with  the  old  lullaby  she  used  to  sing 
when  I  was  a  Httle  child." 

No  gift  bestowed  that  day  was  so  precious  to  Christie 
as  the  joy  of  carrying  this  loving  message  from  daugh- 
ter to  mother.  How  Mrs.  Carrol  received  it  need  not 
be  told.  She  would  have  gone  at  once,  but  Christie 
begged  her  to  wait  till  rest  and  quiet,  after  the  efforts 
of  the  day,  had  prepared  Helen  for  an  interview  which 
might  undo  all  that  had  been  done  if  too  hastily  at- 
tempted. 

Hester  always  waited  upon  her  child  at  night;  so, 
feeling  that  she  might  be  wanted  later,  Christie  went 
to  her  own  room  to  rest.  Quite  sure  that  Mrs.  Carrol 
would  come  to  tell  her  what  had  passed,  she  waited  for 
an  hour  or  two,  then  went  to  ask  of  Hester  how  the 
visit  had  sped. 

"  Her  mamma  came  up  long  ago,  but  the  dear  thing 
was  fast  asleep,  so  I  wouldn't  let  her  be  disturbed,  and 
Mrs.  Carrol  went  away  again,"  said  the  old  woman, 
rousing  from  a  nap. 


COMPANION.  121 

Grievefl  at  the  mother's  disappointment,  Christie 
stole  in,  lK)}»ing  that  Helen  might  rouse.  She  did  not, 
and  Christie  was  about  to  leave  her,  when,  as  she  bent 
to  smooth  the  tumbled  coverlet,  something  dropped 
at  her  feet.  Only  a  little  pearl-handled  penknife  of 
Harry's ;  but  her  heart  stood  still  with  fear,  lor  it  was 
open,  and,  as  she  took  it  up,  a  red  stain  came  off  upon 
her  hand. 

Helen's  face  was  turned  away,  and,  bending  nearer, 
Christie  saw  how  deathly  pale  it  looked  in  the  shadow 
of  the  darkened  room.  She  listened  at  her  lips ;  only 
a  faint  flutter  of  breath  parted  them  ;  she  lifted  up  the 
averted  head,  and  on  the  white  throat  saw  a  little 
wound,  from  which  the  blood  still  flowed.  Thee,  like 
a  flash  of  light,  the  meaning  of  the  sudden  change 
which  came  over  her  grew  clear,  —  her  brave  eflbrts  to 
make  the  last  day  happy,  her  tender  good-night  part- 
ings, her  wish  to  be  at  peace  with  every  one,  the  tragic 
death  she  had  chosen  rather  than  live  out  the  tragic 
life  that  lay  before  her. 

Christie's  nerves  had  been  tried  to  the  uttermost ; 
the  shock  of  this  discovery  was  too  much  for  her,  and, 
in  the  act  of  calling  for  help,  she  fointed,  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life. 

When  she  was  herself  again,  the  room  was  full  of 
people  ;  terror-stricken  faces  passed  before  her  ;  broken 
voices  whispered,  "  It  is  too  late,"  and,  as  she  saw  the 
group  about  the  bed,  she  wished  for  unconsciousness 
again. 

Helen  lay  in  her  mother's  arms  at  last,  quietly  breath- 
ing her  life  away,  for  though  every  thing  that  love  and 
skill  could  devise  had  been  tried  to  save  her,  the  little 


122  WORK. 

knife  in  that  desperate  hand  had  done  its  work,  and 
this  world  held  no  more  suffering  for  her.  Harry  was 
down  upon  his  knees  beside  her,  trying  to  stifle  his 
passionate  grief  Augustine  prayed  audibly  above  her, 
and  the  fervor  of  his  broken  words  comforted  all  hearts 
but  one.  Bella  was  clinging,  panic-stricken,  to  the 
kind  old  doctor,  who  was  sobbing  like  a  boy,  for  he  had 
loved  and  served  poor  Helen  as  faithfully  as  if  she  had 
been  his  own. 

"  Can  nothing  save  her  ?  "  Christie  whispered,  as  the 
prayer  ended,  and  a  sound  of  bitter  weeping  filled  the 
room. 

"  Xothing  ;  she  is  sane  and  safe  at  last,  thank  God ! " 

Christie  could  not  but  echo  his  thanksgiving,  for  the 
blessed  tranquillity  of  the  girl's  countenance  was  such 
as  none  but  death,  the  great  healer,  can  bring ;  and,  as 
they  looked,  her  eyes  opened,  beautifully  clear  and 
calm  before  they  closed  for  ever.  From  face  to  face 
they  passed,  as  if  they  looked  for  some  one,  and  her 
lips  moved  in  vain  efforts  to  speak. 

Christie  went  to  her,  but  still  the  wide,  wistful  eyes 
searched  the  room  as  if  unsatisfied ;  and,  with  a  longing 
that  conquered  the  mortal  weakness  of  the  body,  the 
heart  sent  forth  one  tender  cry: 

"  My  mother  —  I  want  my  mother !  " 

There  was  no  need  to  repeat  the  piteous  call,  for,  as 
it  left  her  lips,  she  saw  her  mother's  flice  bending  over 
her,  and  felt  her  mother's  arms  gathering  her  in  an 
embrace  which  held  her  close  even  after  death  had  set 
its  seal  upon  the  voiceless  prayers  for  pardon  which 
passed  between  those  reunited  hearts. 

When  she  was  asleep  at  last,  Christie  and  her  mother 


COMPANION.  128 

made  her  ready  for  her  grave ;  weeping  teiader  tears  as 
tliey  folded  lier  in  the  soft,  white  garment  she  had  put 
by  for  that  sad  hour ;  and  on  lier  breast  they  hiid  tlie 
flowers  she  had  hung  about  her  lover  as  a  farewell  gift. 
So  beautiful  she  looked  when  all  was  done,  that  in  the 
early  dawn  they  called  her  brothers,  that  they  might 
not  lose  the  memory  of  the  blessed  peace  that  shone 
upon  her  face,  a  mute  assurance  that  for  her  the  new 
year  had  happily   begun. 

"  Xow  my  work  here  is  done,  and  I  must  go,"  thought 
Christie,  when  the  waves  of  life  closed  over  the  spot 
where  another  tired  swimmer  had  gone  down.  But 
she  found  that  one  more  task  remained  for  her  before 
she  left  the  family  which,  on  her  coming,  she  had 
thought  so  happy. 

Mrs.  Carrol,  worn  out  with  the  long  effort  to  conceal 
her  secret  cross,  broke  down  entirely  under  this  last 
blow,  and  besought  Christie  to  tell  Bella  all  that  she 
must  know.  It  was  a  hard  task,  but  Christie  accepted 
it,  and,  when  the  time  came,  found  that  there  was  very 
little  to  be  told,  for  at  the  death-bed  of  the  elder  sister, 
the  younger  had  learned  much  of  the  sad  truth.  Thus 
prepared,  she  listened  to  all  that  was  most  carefully  and 
tenderly  confided  to  her,  and,  when  the  heavy  tale  was 
done,  she  surprised  Chnstie  by  the  unsuspected  strength 
she  showed.  Xo  tears,  no  lamentations,  for  she  was 
her  mother's  daughter,  and  inherited  the  pride  that  can 
bear  heavy  burdens,  if  they  are  borne  unseen. 

"  Tell  me  what  I  must  do,  and  I  wdl  do  it,"  she  said, 
with  the  quiet  despair  of  one  who  submits  to  the  inevi- 
table, but  will  not  complain. 

When  Christie  with  difficulty  told  her  that  she  should 


124  WORK. 

give  lip  her  lover,  Bella  bowed  her  head,  and  for  a 
moment  could  not  speak,  then  lifted  it  as  if  defying  her 
own  weakness,  and  spoke  out  bravely : 

"  It  shall  be  done,  for  it  is  right.  It  is  very  hard  for 
7726,  because  I  love  him  ;  he  will  not  suffer  much,  for  he 
can  love  again.  I  should  be  glad  of  that,  and  I  '11  try 
to  wish  it  for  his  sake.  He  is  young,  and  if,  as  Harry 
says,  he  cares  more  for  my  fortune  than  myself,  so  much 
the  better.     What  next,  Christie  ?  " 

Amazed  and  touched  at  the  courage  of  the  creature 
she  had  fancied  a  sort  of  lovely  buttei-fly  to  be  crushed 
by  a  single  blow,  Christie  took  heart,  and,  instead  of 
soothing  sympathy,  gave  her  the  solace  best  fitted  for 
strong  natures,  something  to  do  for  others.  What 
inspired  her,  Christie  never  knew ;  perhaps  it  was  the 
year  of  self-denying  service  she  had  rendered  for  pity's 
sake;  such  devotion  is  its  own  reward,  and  now,  in 
hereelf,  she  discovered  unsuspected  powers. 

"  Live  for  your  mother  and  your  brothers,  Bella ; 
they  need  you  sorely,  and  in  time  I  know  you  will  find 
true  consolation  in  it,  although  you  must  relinquish 
much.  Sustain  your  mother,  cheer  Augustine,  watch 
over  Harry,  and  be  to  them  what  Helen  longed  to  be." 

"  And  fliil  to  do  it,  as  she  failed !  "  cried  Bella,  with  a 
shudder. 

"Listen,  and  let  me  give  you  this  hope,  for  I  sin- 
cerely do  believe  it.  Since  I  came  here,  I  have  read 
many  books,  thought  much,  and  talked  often  with  Dr. 
Shirley  about  this  sad  affliction.  He  thinks  you  and 
Harry  may  escape  it,  if  you  will.  You  are  like  your 
mother  in  temperament  and  temper;  you  have  self- 
control,  strong  wills,  good  nerves,  and  cheerful  spirits. 


COMPANION.  125 

Poor  Harry  is  "willfully  spoiling  all  his  chances  now ; 
but  you  may  save  him,  and,  in  the  endeavor,  save  your- 
self 

"Oh,  Christie,  may  I  hope  it?  Give  me  one  chance 
of  escape,  and  I  will  sufter  any  hardship  to  kee])  it. 
Let  me  see  any  thing  before  me  but  a  life  and  death  like 
Helen's,  and  I  '11  bless  you  for  ever  I "  cried  Bella,  wel- 
coming this  ray  of  light  as  a  prisoner  welcomes  sun- 
shine in  his  cell. 

Christie  trembled  at  the  power  of  her  words,  yet, 
honestly  believing  them,  she  let  them  uplift  this  discon- 
solate soul,  trusting  that  they  might  be  in  time  fulfilled 
through  God's  mercy  and  the  saving  grace  of  sincere 
endeavor. 

Holding  fast  to  this  frail  spar,  Bella  bravely  took  up 
arms  against  her  sea  of  troubles,  and  rode  out  the 
storm.  When  her  lover  came  to  know  his  fate,  she  hid 
her  heart,  and  answered  "  no,"  finding  a  bitter  satisfac- 
tion in  the  end,  for  Harry  was  right,  and,  when  the 
fortune  was  denied  him,  young  Butler  did  not  mourn 
the  woman  long.  Pride  helped  Bella  to  bear  it ;  but  it 
needed  all  her  courage  to  look  down  the  coming  years 
so  bare  of  all  that  makes  life  sweet  to  youthful  souls, 
so  desolate  and  dark,  with  duty  alone  to  cheer  the 
thorny  way,  and  the  haunting  shadow  of  her  race  lurk- 
ing in  the  background. 

Submission  and  self-sacrifice  are  stern,  sad  an2:els, 
but  in  time  one  learns  to  know  and  love  them,  for  when 
they  have  chastened,  they  uplift  and  bless.  Dimly  dis- 
cerning this,  poor  Bella  put  her  hands  in  theirs,  saying, 
"  Lead  me,  teach  me ;  I  will  follow  and  obey  you." 

All  soon  felt  that  they  could  not  stay  in  a  house  so 


126  WORK. 

full  of  heavy  memories,  and  decided  to  return  to  their 
old  home.  They  begged  Christie  to  go  with  them, 
using  every  argument  and  entreaty  their  affection  could 
suggest.  But  Christie  needed  rest,  longed  for  freedom, 
and  felt  that  in  spite  of  their  regard  it  would  be  very 
hard  for  her  to  live  among  them  any  longer.  Her 
healthy  nature  needed  brighter  influences,  stronger 
comrades,  and  the  memory  of  Helen  weighed  so  heavily 
upon  her  heart  that  she  was  eager  to  forget  it  for  a  time 
in  other  scenes  and  other  work. 

So  they  parted,  very  sadly,  very  tenderly,  and  laden 
with  good  gifts  Christie  went  on  her  way  weary,  but 
well  satisfied,  for  she  had  earned  her  rest. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


SEAMSTRESS. 


FOR  some  weets  Christie  rested  and  refreslied  her- 
self by  making  her  room  gay  and  comfortable 
with  the  gifts  lavished  on  her  by  the  Carrols,  and 
by  sharing  with  others  the  money  which  Harry  had 
smuggled  into  her  possession  after  she  had  steadily 
refused  to  take  one  penny  more  than  the  sum  agreed 
upon  when  she  first  went  to  them. 

She  took  infinite  satisfiction  in  sending  one  hundred 
dollars  to  Uncle  Enos,  for  she  had  accepted  what  he 
gave  her  as  a  loan,  and  set  her  heart  on  repaying  every 
fraction  of  it.  Another  hundred  she  gave  to  Hepsey, 
who  found  her  out  and  came  to  report  her  trials  and 
tribulations.  The  good  soul  had  ventured  South  and 
tried  to  buy  her  mother.  But  "  ole  missis  "  would  not 
let  her  go  at  any  price,  and  the  faithful  chattel  would 
not  run  away.  Sorely  disappointed,  Hepsey  had  been 
obliged  to  submit ;  but  her  trip  was  not  a  failure,  for 
she  liberated  several  brothers  and  sent  them  trium- 
phantly to  Canada. 

"You  must  take  it,  Hepsey,  for  I  could  not  rest 
happy  if  I  put  it  away  to  lie  idle  while  you  can  save 
men  and  women  from  torment  with  it.     I  'd  give  it  if 


128  WORK. 

it  was  my  last  penny,  for  I  can  help  in  no  other  way ; 
and  if  I  need  money,  I  can  always  earn  it,  thank  God  ! " 
said  Christie,  as  Hepsey  hesitated  to  take  so  much  from 
a  fellow-worker. 

The  thought  of  that  investment  lay  warm  at  Chris- 
tie's heart,  and  never  woke  a  regret,  for  well  she  knew 
that  every  dolhir  of  it  would  be  blessed,  since  shares  in 
the  Underground  Railroad  pay  splendid  dividends  that 
never  fail. 

Another  portion  of  her  fortune,  as  she  called  Harry's 
gift,  was  bestowed  in  wedding  presents  upon  Lucy, 
who  at  length  succeeded  in  winning  the  heart  of  the 
owner  of  the  "  heavenly  eyes  "  and  "  distracting  legs  ; " 
and,  having  gained  her  point,  married  him  with  dra- 
matic celerity,  and  went  West  to  follow  the  fortunes 
of  her  lord. 

The  old  theatre  was  to  be  demolished  and  tlie  com- 
pany scattered,  so  a  farewell  festival  was  held,  and 
Christie  went  to  it,  feeling  more  solitary  than  ever  as 
she  bade  her  old  friends  a  long  good-bye. 

The  rest  of  the  money  burned  in  her  pocket,  but  she 
prudently  put  it  by  for  a  rainy  day,  and  fell  to  work 
again  when  her  brief  vacation  was  over. 

Hearing  of  a  chance  for  a  good  needle-woman  in  a 
large  and  well-conducted  mantua-making  establish- 
ment, she  secured  it  as  a  temporary  thing,  for  she 
wanted  to  divert  her  mind  fi*om  that  last  sad  experi- 
ence by  entirely  different  employment  and  surround- 
ings. Slie  liked  to  return  at  night  to  her  o^^ni  little 
home,  solitary  and  simple  as  it  was,  and  felt  a  great 
repugnance  to  accept  any  place  where  she  would  be 
mixed  up  with  family  affairs  again. 


SEAMSTBESS.  129 

So  day  after  day  she  went  to  her  seat  in  the  work- 
room where  a  dozen  other  young  women  sat  sewino- 
busily  on  gay  garments,  with  as  much  lively  gossip  to 
beguile  the  time  as  Miss  Cotton,  the  forewoman,  would 
allow. 

For  a  while  it  diverted  Christie,  as  she  had  a  femi- 
nine love  for  pretty  things,  and  enjoyed  seeing  delicate 
silks,  costly  lace,  and  all  the  indescribable  fantasies  of 
fashion.  But  as  spring  came  on,  the  old  desire  for 
something  fresh  and  free  began  to  haunt  her,  and  she 
had  both  waking  and  sleeping  dreams  of  a  home  in  the 
country  somewhere,  with  cows  and  flowers,  clothes 
bleaching  on  green  grass,  bob-o'-links  making  rapturous 
music  by  the  river,  and  the  smell  of  new-mown  hay,  all 
lending  their  charms  to  the  picture  she  painted  for 
herself. 

Most  assuredly  she  would  have  gone  to  find  these 
things,  led  by  the  instincts  of  a  healthful  nature,  had 
not  one  slender  tie  held  her  till  it  grew  into  a  bond  so 
strong  she  could  not  break  it. 

Among  her  companions  was  one,  and  one  only,  who 
attracted  her.  The  others  were  wxll-meaning  girls, 
but  full  of  the  frivolous  purposes  and  pleasures  which 
their  tastes  prompted  and  their  dull  life  fostered.  Dress, 
gossip,  and  w^^ges  were  the  three  topics  which  absorbed 
them.  Christie  soon  tired  of  the  innumerable  changes 
rung  upon  these  themes,  and  took  refuge  in  her  own 
thoughts,  soon  learning  to  enjoy  them  undisturbed  by 
the  clack  of  many  tongues  about  her.  Her  evenings 
at  home  were  devoted  to  books,  for  she  had  the  true 
New  England  w^oman's  desire  for  education,  and  read 
or  studied  for  the  love  of  it.  Thus  she  had  much  to 
6* 


130  WORK. 

think  of  as  her  needle  flew,  and  was  rapidly  becoming 
a  sort  of  sewing-machine  when  life  was  brightened  for 
her  by  the  finding  of  a  friend. 

Among  the  girls  was  one  quiet,  skilful  creature, 
whose  black  dress,  peculiar  face,  and  silent  ways 
attracted  Christie.  Her  evident  desire  to  be  let  alone 
amused  the  new  comer  at  first,  and  she  made  no  effort 
to  know  her.  But  presently  she  became  aware  that 
Rachel  watched  her  with  covert  interest,  stealing  quick, 
shy  glances,  at  her  as  she  sat  musing  over  her  work. 
Christie  smiled  at  her  when  she  caught  these  glances, 
as  if  to  reassure  the  looker  of  her  good-will.  But 
Rachel  only  colored,  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  her  work, 
and  was  more  reserved  than  ever. 

This  interested  Christie,  and  she  fell  to  studying  this 
young  woman  with  some  curiosity,  for  she  was  different 
from  the  others.  Though  evidently  younger  than  she 
looked,  Rachel's  face  was  that  of  one  who  had  known 
some  great  sorrow,  some  deep  experience  ;  for  there 
were  lines  on  the  forehead  that  contrasted  strongly 
with  the  bright,  abundant  hair  above  it ;  in  repose,  the 
youthfully  red,  soft  lips  had  a  mournful  droop,  and  the 
eyes  were  old  with  that  indescribable  expression  which 
comes  to  those  who  count  their  lives  by  emotions,  not 
by  years. 

Strangely  haunting  eyes  to  Christie,  for  they  seemed 
to  appeal  to  her  with  a  mute  eloquence  she  could  not 
resist.  In  vain  did  Rachel  answer  her  with  quiet  cold- 
ness, nod  silently  when  she  wished  her  a  cheery  "good 
morning,"  and  keep  resolutely  in  lier  own  somewhat 
isolated  corner,  though  invited  to  share  the  sunny 
window  where   the   other  sat.     Her  eyes   belied  her 


SEAMSTBESS.  131 

words,  and  those  fugitive  glances  betrayed  the  longing 
of  a  lonely  heart  that  dared  not  yield  itself  to  the 
genial  companionship  so  freely  offered  it. 

Christie  was  sure  of  this,  and  would  not  be  repulsed ; 
for  her  own  heart  was  very  solitary.  She  missed  Helen, 
and  longed  to  fill  the  empty  place.  She  wooed  this 
shy,  cold  girl  as  patiently  and  as  gently  as  a  lover 
might,  determined  to  win  her  confidence,  because  all 
the  others  had  fiiiled  to  do  it.  Sometimes  she  left  a 
flower  in  Rachel's  basket,  always  smiled  and  nodded  as 
she  entered,  and  often  stopped  to  admire  the  work  of 
her  tasteful  fingers.  It  was  impossible  to  resist  such 
friendly  overtures,  and  slowly  Rachel's  coldness  melted ; 
into  the  beseeching  eyes  came  a  look  of  gratitude,  the 
more  touching  for  its  wordlessness,  and  an  in-epressible 
smile  broke  over  her  face  in  answer  to  the  cordial  ones 
that  made  the  sunshine  of  her  day. 

Emboldened  by  these  demonstrations,  Christie 
changed  her  seat,  and  quietly  established  between 
them  a  daily  interchange  of  something  beside  needles, 
pins,  and  spools.  Then,  as  Rachel  did  not  draw  back 
offended,  she  went  a  step  farther,  and,  one  day  when 
they  chanced  to  be  left  alone  to  finish  off  a  delicate  bit 
of  work,  she  spoke  out  frankly  : 

"  Why  can't  we  be  friends  ?  I  want  one  sadly,  and 
so  do  you,  unless  your  looks  deceive  me.  We  both 
seem  to  be  alone  in  the  world,  to  have  had  trouble,  and 
to  like  one  another.  I  won't  annoy  you  by  any  imper- 
tinent curiosity,  nor  burden  you  with  uninteresting 
confidences ;  I  only  want  to  feel  that  you  like  me  a 
little  and  don't  mind  my  liking  you  a  great  deal.  Will 
you  be  my  friend,  and  let  me  be  yours  ?  " 


132  WORK. 

A  great  tear  rolled  down  upon  the  shining  silk  in 
Rachel's  hands  as  she  looked  into  Christie's  earnest 
face,  and  answered  with  an  almost  passionate  gratitude 
in  her  own : 

"  You  can  never  need  a  friend  as  much  as  I  do,  or 
know  what  a  blessed  thing  it  is  to  find  such  an  one  as 
you  are." 

"  Then  I  may  love  you,  and  not  be  afraid  of  offend- 
ing ?  "  cried  Christie,  much  touched. 

"  Yes.  But  remember  I  didn't  ask  it  first,"  said 
Rachel,  half  dropping  the  hand  she  had  held  in  both 
her  own. 

"  You  proud  creature  !  I  '11  remember  ;  and  when 
we  quarrel,  I  '11  take  all  the  blame  upon  myself." 

Then  Christie  kissed  her  warmly,  whisked  away  the 
tear,  and  began  to  paint  the  delights  in  store  for  them 
in  her  most  enthusiastic  way,  being  much  elated  with 
her  victory  ;  while  Rachel  listened  with  a  newly  kindled 
light  in  her  lovely  eyes,  and  a  smile  that  showed  how 
winsome  her  face  had  been  before  many  tears  washed 
its  bloom  away,  and  much  trouble  made  it  old  too  soon. 

Christie  kept  Ker  word,  —  asked  no  questions,  volun- 
teered no  confidences,  but  heartily  enjoyed  the  new 
fi-iendship,  and  found  that  it  gave  to  life  the  zest  which 
it  had  lacked  before.  "Now  some  one  cared  for  her, 
and,  better  still,  she  could  make  some  one  happy,  and 
in  the  act  of  lavishing  the  affection  of  her  generous  nat- 
ure on  a  creature  sadder  and  more  solitary  than  her- 
self, she  found  a  satisfaction  that  never  lost  its  charm. 
There  was  nothing  in  her  possession  that  she  did  not 
offer  Rachel,  from  the  whole  of  her  heart  to  the  larger 
half  of  her  little  room. 


SEAMSTRESS.  133 

"  I  'm  tired  of  thinking  only  of  myself.  It  makes  me 
selfish  and  low-spirited ;  for  I  'm  not  a  bit  interesting. 
I  must  love  somebody,  and  '  love  them  hard,'  as  chil- 
dren say;  so  why  can't  you  come  and  stay  with  me? 
There 's  room  enough,  and  we  could  be  so  cosy  evenings 
with  our  books  and  work.  I  know  you  need  some 
one  to  look  after  you,  and  I  love  dearly  to  take  care 
of  people.  Do  come,"  she  would  say,  with  most  per- 
suasive hospitality. 

But  Rachel  always  answered  steadily :  "  Not  yet, 
Christie,  not  yet.  I  've  got  something  to  do  before  I 
can  think  of  doing  any  thing  so  beautiful  as  that.  Only 
love  me,  dear,  and  some  day  I  '11  show  you  all  my  heart, 
and  thank  you  as  I  ought." 

So  Christie  was  content  to  wait,  and,  meantime,  en- 
joyed much ;  for,  with  Rachel  as  a  friend,  she  ceased 
to  care  for  country  pleasures,  found  happiness  in  the 
work  that  gave  her  better  food  than  mere  daily  bread, 
and  never  thought  of  change ;  for  love  can  make  a 
home  for  itself  anywhere. 

A  very  bright  and  happy  time  was  this  in  Christie's 
life ;  but,  like  most  happy  times,  it  was  very  brief. 
Only  one  summer  allowed  for  the  blossoming  of  the 
fi'iehdship  that  budded  so  slowly  in  the  spring;  then 
the  frost  came  and  killed  the  flowers ;  but  the  root  lived 
long  underneath  the  snows  of  sufiering,  doubt,  and 
absence. 

Coming  to  her  work  late  one  morning,  she  found  the 
usually  orderly  room  in  confusion.  Some  of  the  girls 
were  crying ;  some  whispering  together,  —  all  looking 
excited  and  dismayed.  Mrs.  King  sat  majestically  at 
her  table,  with  an  ominous  frown  upon  her  face.     Miss 


134 


WORK. 


Cotton  stood  beside  her,  looking  unusually  sour  and 
stern,  for  the  ancient  virgin's  temper  was  not  of  the 
best.  Alone,  before  them  all,  with  her  face  hidden  in 
her  hands,  and  despair  in  every  line  of  her  drooping 
figure,  stood  Rachel,  —  a  meek  culprit  at  the  stern  bar 
of  justice,  where  women  try  a  sister  woman.  ' 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  cried  Chiistie,  pausing  on  the 
threshold. 


Mrs.  King  and  Miss  Cotton. 


SEAMSTEESS.  135 

Rachel  shivered,  as  if  the  sound  of  that  familiar  voice 
was  a  fresh  wound,  but  she  did  not  lift  her  head ;  and 
Mrs.  King  answered,  with  a  nervous  emphasis  that 
made  the  bugles  of  her  head-dress  rattle  dismally: 

"  A  very  sad  thing.  Miss  Devon,  —  very  sad,  indeed ;  a 
thing  which  never  occurred  in  my  establishment  before, 
and  never  shall  again.  It  appears  that  Rachel,  whom 
we  all  considered  a  most  respectable  and  Avorthy  girl, 
has  been  quite  the  reverse.  I  shudder  to  think  what 
the  consequences  of  my  taking  her  without  a  character 
(a  thing  I  never  do,  and  was  only  tempted  by  her  su- 
perior taste  as  a  trimmer)  might  have  been  if  Miss  Cot- 
ton, having  suspicions,  had  not  made  strict  inquiry  and 
confirmed  them." 

"  That  was  a  kind  and  generous  act,  and  Miss  Cotton 
must  feel  proud  of  it,"  said  Christie,  with  an  indignant 
recollection  of  Mr.  Fletcher's  "  cautious  inquiries  "  about 

herself. 

« It  was  perfectly  right  and  proper.  Miss  Devon ;  and 
I  thank  her  for  her  care  of  my  interests."  And  Mrs. 
King  bowed  her  acknowledgment  of  the  service  with 
a  perfect  Castanet  accompaniment,  whereat  Miss  Cot- 
ton bridled  with  malicious  complacency. 

"Mrs.  King,  are  you  sure  of  this?"  said  Christie. 
"Miss  Cotton  does  not  like  Rachel  because  her  work  is 
so  much  praised.  May  not  her  jealousy  make  her  un- 
just, or  her  zeal  for  you  mislead  her  ?  " 

"  I  thank  ypu  for  your  polite  insinuations,  miss,"  re- 
turned the  irate  forewoman.  "J  never  make  mistakes ; 
but  you  will  find  that  you  have  made  a  very  great  one 
in  choosing  Rachel  for  your  bosom  friend  instead  of 
some  one  who  would  be  a  credit  to  you.    Ask  the  creat- 


136  WORK. 

ure  herself  if  all  I  've  said  of  her  isn't  tnie.  She  can't 
deny  it." 

With  the  same  indefinable  misgiving  which  had  held 
her  aloof,  Christie  turned  to  Rachel,  lifled  up  the  hid- 
den face  with  gentle  force,  and  looked  into  it  implor- 
ingly, as  she  whispered  :  "  Is  it  true  ?  " 

The  woful  countenance  she  saw  made  any  other 
answer  needless.  Involuntarily  her  hands  fell  away, 
and  she  hid  her  own  face,  uttering  the  one  reproach, 
which,  tender  and  tearful  though  it  was,  seemed  harder 
to  be  borne  than  the  stern  condemnation  gone  before. 

"  Oh,  Rachel,  I  so  loved  and  trusted  you!" 

The  grief,  aftection,  and  regret  that  trembled  in  her 
voice  roused  Rachel  from  her  state  of  passive  endurance 
and  gave  her  courage  to  plead  for  hei-self.  But  it  was 
Christie  whom  she  addressed,  Christie  whose  pardon 
she  implored,  Christie's  sorrowful  reproach  that  she 
most  keenly  felt. 

"  Yes,  it  is  true,"  she  said,  looking  only  at  the  woman 
who  had  been  the  first  to  befriend  and  now  was  the  last 
to  desert  her.  "  It  is  true'  that  I  once  went  astray ,  but 
God  knows  I  have  repented ;  that  for  years  I  've  tried  to 
be  an  honest  girl  again,  and  that  but  for  this  help  I 
should  be  a  far  sadder  creature  than  I  am  this  day. 
Christie,  you  can  never  know  how  bitter  hard  it  is  to 
outlive  a  sin  like  mine,  and  struggle  up  again  from  such 
a  fall.  It  clings  to  me  ;  it  won't  be  shaken  oflT  or  buried 
out  of  sight.  No  sooner  do  I  find  a  safe  place  like  this, 
and  try  to  forget  the  past,  than  some  one  reads  my 
secret  in  my  face  and  hunts  me  down.  It  seems  very 
cruel,  very  hard,  yet  it  is  my  punishment,  so  I  try  to 
bear  it,  and  begin  again.     What  hurts  me  now  more 


SEAMSTEESS.  137 

than  all  the  rest,  what  breaks  my  heart,  is  that  I 
deceived  you.  I  never  meant  to  do  it.  I  did  not  seek 
you,  did  I?  I  tried  to  be  cohl  and  stiif;  never  asked 
for  love,  though  starving  for  it,  till  you  came  to  me,  so 
kind,  so  generous,  so  dear,  —  how  could  I  help  it?  Oh, 
how  could  I  help  it  then  ?  " 

Christie  liad  watched  Rachel  while  she  spoke,  and 
spoke  to  her  alone  ;  her  heart  yearned  toward  this  one 
friend,  for  she  still  loved  her,  and,  loving,  she  believed 
in  her. 

"  I  don't  reproach  you,  dear :  I  don't  despise  or  desert 
you,  and  though  I'm  gi'ieved  and  disappointed,  I'll 
stand  by  you  still,  because  you  need  me  more  than 
ever  now,  and  I  want  to  prove  that  I  am  a  true  friend. 
Mrs.  King,  please  forgive  and  let  poor  Rachel  stay 
here,  safe  among  us." 

"  3Iiss  Devon,  I  'm  surprised  at  you !  By  no  means  ; 
it  would  be  the  ruin  of  my  estabUshment ;  not  a  girl 
would  remain,  and  the  character  of  my  rooms  Avould 
be  lost  for  ever,"  replied  Mrs.  King,  goaded  on  by  the 
relentless  Cotton. 

«  But  where  will  she  go  if  you  send  her  away  ?  Who 
will  employ  her  if  you  inform  against  her?  What 
stranger  will  believe  in  her  if  we,  who  have  known  her 
so  long,  fail  to  befriend  her  now?  Mrs.  King,  think 
of  your  own  daughters,  and  be  a  mother  to  this  poor 
girl  for  their  sake." 

That  last  stroke  touched  the  woman's  heart;  her 
cold  eye  softened,  her  hard  mouth  relaxed,  and  pity 
was  about  to  win  the  day,  when  prudence,  in  the  shape 
of  Miss  Cotton,  turned  the  scale,  for  that  spiteful  spins- 
ter suddenly  cried  out,  in  a  burst  of  righteous  WTath : 


138  WOBK. 

"  If  that  hussy  stays,  I  leave  this  cstabhshniciit  for 
ever ! "  and  followed  up  the  blow  by  putting  on  her 
bonnet  with  a  flourish. 

At  this  spectacle,  self-interest  got  the  better  of  sym- 
pathy in  Mrs.  King's  worldly  mind.  To  lose  Cotton 
was  to  lose  her  right  hand,  and  charity  at  that  price  was 
too  expensive  a  luxury  to  be  indulged  in ;  so  she 
hardened  her  heart,  composed  her  features,  and  said, 
impressively : 

"  Take  off  your  bonnet.  Cotton  ;  I  have  no  intention 
of  offending  you,  or  any  one  else,  by  such  a  step.  I 
forgive  you,  Rachel,  and  I  pity  you  ;  but  I  can't  think 
of  allowing  you  to  stay.  There  are  proper  institutions 
for  such  as  you,  and  I  advise  you  to  go  to  one  and  re- 
pent. You  were  paid  Saturday  night,  so  nothing  pre- 
vents your  leaving  at  once.  Time  is  money  here,  and 
we  are  wasting  it.     Young  ladies,  take  your  seats." 

All  but  Christie  obeyed,  yet  no  one  touched  a  needle, 
and  Mrs.  King  sat,  hurriedly  stabbing  pins  into  the  fat 
cushion  on  her  breast,  as  if  testing  the  hardness  of  her 
heart. 

Rachel's  eye  went  round  the  room ;  saw  pity,  aver- 
sion, or  contempt,  on  every  face,  but  met  no  answering 
glance,  for  even  Christie's  eyes  were  bent  thoughtfully 
on  the  ground,  and  Christie's  heart  seemed  closed 
against  her.  As  she  looked  her  whole  manner  changed ; 
her  tears  ceased  to  fall,  her  face  grew  hard,  and  a  reck- 
less mood  seemed  to  take  possession  of  her,  as  if  find- 
ing herself  deserted  by  womankind,  she  w^ould  desert 
her  own  womanhood. 

"  I  might  have  known  it  would  be  so,"  she  said  ab- 
i-uptly,  with  a  bitter  smile,  sadder  to  see  than  her  most 


SEAMSTBESS.  139 

hopeless  tears.  "  It's  no  use  for  such  as  me  to  try ;  bet- 
ter go  back  to  the  old  life,  for  there  are  kinder  hearts 
among  the  sinners  than  among  the  saints,  and  no  one 
can  live  without  a  hit  of  love.  Your  Magdalen  Asylums 
are-v  penitentiaries,  not  homes ;  I  won't  go  to  any  of 
them.  Your  ])iety  isn't  worth  much,  for  though  you 
read  in  your  Bible  how  the  Lord  treated  a  poor  soul 
like  me,  yet  when  I  stretch  out  my  hand  to  you  for 
help,  not  one  of  all  you  virtuous.  Christian  women  dare 
take  it  and  keep  me  from  a  life  that 's  worse  than  hell." 

As  she  spoke  Rachel  flung  out  her  hand  with  a  half- 
defiant  gesture,  and  Christie  took  it.  That  touch,  full 
of  womanly  compassion,  seemed  to  exorcise  the  des- 
perate spirit  that  possessed  the  poor  girl  in  her  despair, 
for,  with  a  stifled  exclamation,  she  sunk  down  at  Chris- 
tie's feet,  and  lay  there  weeping  in  all  the  passionate 
abandonment  of  love  and  gratitude,  remorse  and  shame. 
Never  had  human  voice  sounded  so  heavenly  sweet  to 
her  as  that  which  broke  the  silence  of  the  room,  as 
this  one  friend  said,  with  the  earnestness  of  a  true  and 
tender  heart: 

"Mrs.  King,  if  you  send  her  away,  I  must  take  her 
in  ;  for  if  she  does  go  back  to  the  old  life,  the  sin  of  it 
will  lie  at  our  door,  and  God  will  remember  it  against 
us  in  the  end.  Some  one  must  trust  her,  help  her,  love 
her,  and  so  save  her,  as  nothing  else  will.  Perhaps  I 
can  do  this  better  than  you,—  at  least,  I  '11  try  ;  for  even 
if  I  risk  the  loss  of  my  good  name,  I  could  bear  that  bet- 
ter than  the  thought  that  Rachel  had  lost  the  work  of 
these  hard  years  for  want  of  upholding  now.  She  shall 
come  home  with  me ;  no  one  there  need  know  of  this 
discovery,  and  I  will  take  any  work  to  her  that  you 


140  WORK. 

will  give  mc,  to  keep  her  from  want  and  its  tempta- 
tions. Will  you  do  this,  and  let  me  sew  for  less,  if  I 
can  pay  you  for  the  kindness  in  no  other  way  ?  " 

Poor  Mrs.  King  was  "  much  tumbled  up  and  down 
in  her  own  mind  ;  "  she  longed  to  consent,  but  Cotton's 
eye  was  upon  her,  and  Cotton's  departure  would  be  an 
irreparable  loss,  so  she  decided  to  end  the  matter  in  the 
most  summary  manner.  Plunging  a  particularly  large 
pin  into  her  cushioned  breast,  as  if  it  was  a  relief  to 
inflict  that  mock  torture  upon  herself,  she  said  shai-ply: 

"  It  is  impossible.  You  can  do  as  you  please.  Miss 
Devon,  but  I  prefer  to  wash  my  hands  of  tlie  affair  at 
once  and  entirely." 

Christie's  eye  went  from  the  figure  at  her  feet  to  the 
hard-featured  woman  who  had  been  a  kind  and  just 
mistress  until  now,  and  she  asked,  anxiously  : 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  wash  your  hands  of  me  also, 
ifl  stand  by  Rachel?" 

"  I  do.  I  'm  very  sorry,  but  my  young  ladies  7mcst 
keep  respectable  company,  or  leave  my  service,"  was 
the  brief  reply,  for  Mrs.  King  grew  grimmer  externally 
as  the  mental  rebellion  increased  internally. 

"  Then  I  will  leave  it !  "  cried  Clu'istie,  with  an  indig- 
nant voice  and  eye.  "  Come,  dear,  we  '11  go  together." 
And  without  a  look  or  word  for  any  in  the  room,  she 
raised  the  prostrate  girl,  and  led  her  out  into  the  little 
hall. 

There  she  essayed  to  comfort  her,  but  before  many 
words  had  passed  her  lips  Rachel  looked  up,  and  she 
was  silent  with  surprise,  for  the  face  she  saw  was 
neither  despairing  nor  defiant,  but  beautifully  sweet 
and  clear,  as  the  unfallen  spirit  of  the  woman  shone 


SEAMSTBESS.  141 

tlirougli   the   grateful   eyes,   and  blessed  her  for  lier 
loyalty. 

"  Christie,  you  have  done  enough  for  me,"  she  said. 
"  Go  back,  and  keep  the  good  place  you  need,  for  such 
are  hard  to  find.  I  can  get  on  alone  ;  I'm  used  to  this, 
and  the  pain  will  soon  be  over." 

"  I  '11  not  go  back  !  "  cried  Christie,  hotly.  I  '11  do 
slop-work  and  starve,  before  I  '11  stay  with  such  a  nar- 
row-minded, cold-hearted  woman.  Come  home  with 
me  at  once,  and  let  ns  lay  our  plans  together." 

*'  No,  dear ;  if  I  wouldn't  go  when  you  first  asked  me, 
much  less  will  I  go  now,  for  I've  done  you  harm 
enough  already.  I  never  can  thank  you  for  your  great 
goodness  to  me,  never  tell  you  what  it  has  been  to  me. 
We  must  part  now  ;  but  some  day  I  '11  come  back  and 
show  you  that  I've  not  forgotten  how  you  loved  and 
helped  and  trusted  me,  when  all  the  others  cast  me 
off." 

Vain  were  Christie's  arguments  and  appeals.  Rachel 
was  immovable,  and  all  her  friend  could  win  from  her 
was  a  promise  to  send  word,  now  and  then,  how  things 
prospered  with  her. 

"  And,  Rachel,  I  charge  you  to  come  to  me  in  any 
strait,  no  matter  what  it  is,  no  matter  where  I  am ;  for 
if  any  thing  could  break  my  heart,  it  would  be  to  know 
that  you  had  gone  back  to  the  old  life,  because  there 
was  no  one  to  help  and  hold  you  up." 

"  I  never  can  go  back ;  you  have  saved  me,  Christie, 
for  you  love  me,  you  have  faith  in  me,  and  that  will 
keep  me  strong  and  safe  when  you  are  gone.  Oh,  my 
dear,  my  clear,  God  bless  you  for  ever  and  for  ever  ! " 

Then  Christie,  remembering  only  that  they  were  two 


142  WORK. 

loving  women,  alone  in  a  world  of  sin  and  sorrow, 
took  Rachel  in  her  arms,  kissed  and  cried  over  her 
with  sisterly  affection,  and  watched  her  prayerfully, 
as  she  went  away  to  begin  her  hard  task  anew,  with 
nothing  but  the  touch  of  innocent  lips  upon  her  cheek, 
the  baptism  of  tender  tears  upon  her  forehead  to  keep 
her  from  despair. 

Still  cherishing  the  hope  that  Rachel  would  come 
back  to  her,  Christie  neither  returned  to  Mrs.  King 
nor  sought  another  place  of  any  sort,  but  took  home 
work  from  a  larger  establishment,  and  sat  sewing  dili- 
gently in  her  little  room,  waiting,  hoping,  longing  for 
her  friend.  But  month  after  month  went  by,  and  no 
word,  no  sign  came  to  comfort  her.  She  would  not 
doubt,  yet  she  could  not  help  fearing,  and  in  her 
nightly  prayer  no  petition  was  more  fervently  made 
than  that  which  asked  the  Father  of  both  saint  and 
sinner  to  keep  poor  Rachel  safe,  and  bring  her  back  in 
his  good  time. 

Never  had  she  been  so  lonely  as  now,  for  Christie 
had  a  social  heart,  and,  having  known  the  joy  of  a 
cordial  friendship  even  for  a  little  while,  life  seemed 
very  barren  to  her  when  she  lost  it.  No  new  friend 
took  Rachel's  place,  for  none  came  to  her,  and  a  feeling 
of  loyalty  kept  her  from  seeking  one.  But  she  suf- 
fered for  the  want  of  genial  society,  for  all  the  ten- 
derness of  her  nature  seemed  to  have  been  roused  by 
that  brief  but  most  sincere  affection.  Her  hungry 
heart  clamored  for  the  happiness  that  was  its  right, 
and  grew  very  heavy  as  she  watched  friends  or  lovers 
walking  in  the  summer  twilight  when  she  took  her 
evening  stroll.     Often  her  eyes  followed  some  humble 


SEAMSTRESS.  143 

pair,  longing  to  bless  and  to  be  blessed  by  the  divine 
passion  whose  magic  beautilies  the  little  milUner  and 
her  lad  with  the  same  tender  grace  as  the  poet  and  the 
mistress  whom  he  makes  immortal  in  a  song.  But 
neither  friend  nor  lover  came  to  Cliristie,  and  she  said 
to  herself,  with  a  sad  sort  of  courage : 

"  I  shall  be  solitary  all  my  life,  perhaps ;  so  the  sooner 
I  make  uj)  my  mind  to  it,  the  easier  it  will  be  to 
bear." 

At  Christmas-tide  she  made  a  little  festival  for  her- 
selti  by  giving  to  each  of  the  household  drudges  the 
most  generous  gift  she  could  afford,  for  no  one  else 
thought  of  them,  and  having  known  some  of  the  hard- 
ships of  servitude  herself,  she  had  much  sympathy  with 
those  in  like  case. 

Then,  with  the  pleasant  recollection  of  two  plain 
faces,  brightened  by  gratitude,  surprise,  and  joy,  she 
went  out  into  the  busy  streets  to  forget  the  solitude  she 
left  behind  her. 

Very  gay  they  were  with  snow  and  sleigh-bells,  holly- 
boughs,  and  garlands,  below,  and  Christmas  sunshine 
in  the  winter  sky  above.  All  faces  shone,  all  voices  had 
a  cheery  ring,  and  everybody  stepped  briskly  on 
errands  of  good-will.  Up  and  down  went  Christie, 
making  herself  happy  in  the  happiness  of  others. 
Looking  in  at  the  shop-windows,  she  watched,  with. 
interest,  the  purchases  of  busy  parents,  calculating  how 
best  to  fill  the  little  socks  hung  up  at  home,  with  a 
childish  faith  that  never  must  be  disappointed,  no  mat- 
ter how  hard  the  times  might  be.  She  was  glad  to  see 
so  many  turkeys  on  their  way  to  garnish  hospitable 
tables,  and  hoped  that  all  the  dear  home  circles  might 


144  WORK, 

be  found  unbroken,  though  she  had  place  in  none.  No 
Christmas-tree  went  by  leaving  a  whiff  of  piny  sweet- 
ness behind,  that  she  did  not  wish  it  all  success,  and 
picture  to  herself  the  merry  little  people  dancing  in  its 
light.  And  whenever  she  saw  a  ragged  child  eying  a 
window  full  of  goodies,  smiling  even  while  it  shivered, 
she  could  not  resist  playing  Santa  Claus  till  her  jmrse 
was  empty,  sending  the  poor  little  souls  enraptured 
home  with  oranges  and  apples  in  either  hand,  and 
splendid  sweeties  in  their  pockets,  for  the  babies. 

No  envy  mingled  with  the  melancholy  that  would 
not  be  dispelled  even  by  these  gentle  acts,  for  her  heart 
was  very  tender  that  night,  and  if  any  one  had  asked 
what  gifts  she  desired  most,  she  would  have  answered 
with  a  look  more  pathetic  than  any  shiveiing  child  had 
given  her: 

"  I  want  the  sound  of  a  loving  voice ;  the  touch  of  a 
friendly  hand." 

Going  home,  at  last,  to  the  lonely  little  room  where 
no  Christmas  lire  burned,  no  tree  shone,  no  household 
group  awaited  her,  she  climbed  the  long,  dark  stairs, 
with  drops  on  her  cheeks,  warmer  than  any  melted 
snow-flake  could  have  left,  and  opening  her  door 
paused  on  the  threshold,  smiling  with  wonder  and 
delight,  for  in  her  absence  some  gentle  spirit  had 
remembered  her.  A  fire  burned  cheerily  upon  the 
hearth,  her  lamp  was  lighted,  a  lovely  rose-tree,  in  full 
bloom,  filled  the  air  with  its  delicate  breath,  and  in  its 
shadow  lay  a  note  from  Rachel. 

"  A  merry  Christmas  and  a  happy  New  Year,  Chris- 
tie !     Long  ago  you  gave  me   your  little  rose ;  I  have 


SEAMSTRESS.  145 

watched  and  tended  it  for  your  sake,  dear,  and  now 
when  I  want  to  show  ray  love  and  tliankfulness,  I  give 
it  back  again  as  my  one  treasure.  I  crept  in  while  you 
were  gone,  because  I  feared  I  might  harm  you  in  some 
way  if  you  saw  me.  I  longed  to  stay  and  tell  you  that 
I  am  safe  and  well,  and  busy,  with  your  good  face  look- 
ing into  mine,  but  I  don't  deserve  that  yet.  Only  love 
me,  trust  me,  pray  for  me,  and  some  day  you  shall 
know  what  you  have  done  for  me.  Till  then,  God  bless 
and  keep  you,  dearest  friend,  your  Rachel." 

Never  had  sweeter  tears  fliUen  than  those  that 
dropped  upon  the  little  tree  as  Christie  took  it  in  hfer 
arms,  and  all  the  rosy  clusters  leaned  toward  her  as  if 
eager  to  deliver  tender  messages.  Surely  her  wish  was 
granted  now,  for  friendly  hands  had  been  at  work  for 
her.  Warm  against  her  heart  lay  words  as  precious  as 
if  uttered  by  a  loving  voice,  and  nowhere,  on  that 
happy  night,  stood  a  fairer  Christmas  tree  than  that 
which  bloomed  so  beautifully  from  the  heart  of  a  Mag- 
dalen who  loved  much  and  was  forgiven. 


7» 


CHAPTER  VII. 


THBOUGH    TUE    MIST. 


THE  year  that  followed  was  the  saddest  Christie 
had  ever  known,  for  she  suffered  a  sort  of  poverty 
which  is  more  difficult  to  bear  than  actual  want,  since 
money  cannot  lighten  it,  and  the  rarest  charity  alone 
can  minister  to  it.  Her  heart  was  empty  and  she  could 
not  fill  it ;  her  soul  was  hungry  and  she  could  not  feed 
it ;  life  was  cold  and  dark  and  she  could  not  warm  and 
brighten  it,  for  she  knew  not  where  to  go. 

She  tried  to  help  herself  by  all  the  means  in  her 
power,  and  when  effort  after  effort  failed  she  said :  "  I 
am  not  good  enough  yet  to  deserve  happiness.  I  think 
too  much  of  human  love,  too  little  of  divine.  When  I 
have  made  God  my  friend  perhaps  He  will  let  me  find 
and  keep  one  heart  to  make  life  happy  with.  How 
shall  I  know  God  ?  Who  will  tell  me  where  to  find 
Him,  and  help  me  to  love  and  lean  upon  Plira  as  I 
ought?" 

In  all  sincerity  she  asked  these  questions,  in  all  sin- 
cerity she  began  her  search,  and  with  pathetic  patience 
w^aited  for  an  answer.  She  read  many  books,  some 
wise,  some  vague,  some  full  of  superstition,  all  unsatis- 
factory to  one  who  wanted  a  living  God.     She  went  to 


THROUGH  THE  MIST.  147 

many  churches,  studied  many  creeds,  and  watched 
their  fruits  as  well  as  she  couM  ;  but  still  remained 
unsatisfied.  Some  were  cold  and  narrow,  some  seemed 
theatrical  and  superficial,  some  stern  and  terrible,  none 
simple,  sweet,  and  strong  enough  for  humanity's  many 
needs.  There  was  too  much  machinery,  too  many 
walls,  laws,  and  penalties  between  the  Father  and  his 
children.  Too  much  fear,  too  little  love;  too  many- 
saints  and  intercessors ;  too  little  faith  in  the  instincts 
of  the  soul  which  turns  to  God  as  flowers  to  the  sun. 
Too  much  idle  strife  about  names  and  creeds ;  too  little 
knowledge  of  the  natural  religion  which  has  no  name 
but  godliness,  whose  creed  is  boundless  and  benignant 
as  the  sunshine,  whose  faith  is  as  the  tender  trust  of 
little  children  in  their  mother's  love. 

Nowhere  did  Christie  find  this  all-sustaining  power, 
this  paternal  friend,  and  comforter,  and  after  months  of 
patient  searching  she  gave  up  her  quest,  saying,  de- 
spondently :  ' 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  never  shall  get  religion,  for  all  that 's 
ofiered  me  seems  so  poor,  so  narrow,  or  so  hard  that  I 
cannot  take  it  for  my  stay.  A  God  of  wrath  I  cannot 
love;  a  God  that  must  be  propitiated,  adorned,  and 
adored  like  an  idol  I  cannot  respect ;  and  a  God  who 
can  be  blinded  to  men's  iniquities  through  the  week  by 
a  little  beating  of  the  breast  and  bowing  down  on  the 
seventh  day,  I  cannot  serve.  I  want  a  Father  to  whom 
I  can  go  with  all  my  sins  and  sorrows,  all  my  hopes  and 
joys,  as  freely  and  fearlessly  as  I  used  to  go  to  my 
human  father,  sure  of  help  and  sympathy  and  love. 
Shall  I  ever  find  Him  ? " 

Alas,  poor  Christie !  she  was  going  through  the  sor- 


148  WORK. 

rowful  perplexity  that  comes  to  so  many  before  they 
learn  that  religion  cannot  be  given  or  bought,  but  must 
grow  as  trees  grow,  needing  frost  and  snow,  rain  and 
wind  to  strengthen  it  before  it  is  deep-rooted  in  the 
soul ;  that  God  is  in  the  hearts  of  all,  and  they  that 
seek  shall  surely  find  Him  when  they  need  Ilim  most. 

So  Christie  .waited  for  religion  to  reveal  itself  to  her, 
and  while  she  waited  worked  with  an  almost  desperate 
industry,  trying  to  buy  a  little  happiness  for  herself  by 
giving  a  part  of  her  eaniings  to  those  whose  needs 
money  could  supply.  She  clung  to  her  little  room,  for 
there  she  could  live  her  own  life  undisturbed,  and  pre- 
ferred to  stint  herself  in  other  ways  rather  than  give 
up  this  liberty.  Day  after  day  she  sat  there  sewing 
health  of  mind  and  body  into  the  long  seams  or  dainty 
stitching  that  passed  through  her  busy  hands,  and  while 
she  sewed  she  thought  sad,  bitter,  oftentimes  rebellious 
thoughts. 

It  was  the  worst  life  she  could  have  led  just  then, 
for,  deprived  of  the  active,  cheerful  influences  she  most 
needed,  her  mind  preyed  on  itself,  slowly  and  surely, 
preparing  her  for  the  dark  experience  to  come.  She 
knew  that  there  was  fitter  work  for  her  somewhere, 
but  how  to  find  it  was  a  problem  which  wiser  women 
have  often  failed  to  solve.  She  was  no  pauper,  yet  was 
one  of  those  whom  poverty  sets  at  odds  with  the  world, 
for  favors  burden  and  dependence  makes  the  bread 
bitter  unless  love  brightens  the  one  and  sweetens  the 
other. 

There  are  many  Cliristies,  willing  to  work,  yet  unable 
to  bear  the  contact  with  coai-ser  natures  which  makes 
labor  seem  degrading,  or  to  endure  the  hard  struggle 


THROUGH  THE  MIST.  149 

for  the  bare  necessities  of  life  when  life  has  lost  all  that 
makes  it  beautiful.  People  wonder  when  such  as  she 
say  they  can  find  little  to  do ;  but  to  those  who  know 
nothing  of  the  pangs  of  pride,  the  sacrifices  of  feeling, 
the  martyrdoms  of  youth,  love,  hope,  and  ambition  that 
go  on  under  the  faded  cloaks  of  these  poor  gentle- 
women, who  tell  them  to  go  into  factories,  or  scrub  in 
kitchens,  for  there  is  work  enough  for  all,  the  most  con- 
vincing answer  would  be,  "  Try  it." 

Christie  kept  up  bravely  till  a  wearisome  low  fever 
broke  both  strength  and  spirit,  and  brought  the  weight 
of  debt  upon  her  when  least  fitted  to  bear  or  cast  it  off. 
For  the  first  time  she  began  to  feel  that  she  had  nerves 
which  would  rebel,  and  a  heart  that  could  not  long 
endure  isolation  from  its  kind  without  losing  the  cheer- 
ful courage  which  hitherto  had  been  her  staunchest 
friend.  Perfect  rest,  kind  care,  and  genial  society  were 
the  medicines  she  needed,  but  there  was  no  one  to  min- 
ister to  her,  and  she  went  blindly  on  along  the  road  so 
many  women  tread. 

She  left  her  bed  too  soon,  fearing  to  ask  too  much  of 
the  busy  people  who  had  done  their  best  to  be  neigh- 
borly. She  returned  to  her  work  when  it  felt  heavy  in 
her  feeble  hands,  for  debt  made  idleness  seem  wicked 
to  her  conscientious  mind.  And,  worst  of  all,  she  fell 
back  into  the  bitter,  brooding  mood  which  had  become 
habitual  to  her  since  she  lived  alone.  While  the  tired 
hands  slowly  worked,  the  w-eary  brain  ached  and  burned 
with  heavy  thoughts,  vain  longings,  and  feverish  fancies, 
till  things  about  her  sometimes  seemed  as  strange  and 
spectral  as  the  phantoms  that  had  haunted  her  half- 
delirious  sleep.    Inexpressibly  wretched  were  the  dreary 


150  WORK. 

days,  the  restless  nights,  with  only  pain  and  labor  for 
companions.  The  world  looked  very  dark  to  her,  life 
seemed  an  utter  failure,  God  a  delusion,  and  the  long, 
lonely  years  before  her  too  hard  to  be  endured. 

It  is  not  always  want,  insanity,  or  sin  that  di-ives 
women  to  desperate  deaths  ;  often  it  is  a  dreadful  lone- 
liness of  heart,  a  hunger  for  home  and  friends,  worse 
than  starvation,  a  bitter  sense  of  wrong  in  being  denied 
the  tender  ties,  the  pleasant  duties,  the  sweet  rewards 
that  can  make  the  humblest  life  happy ;  a  rebellious 
protest  against  God,  who,  when  they  cry  for  bread, 
seems  to  ofler  them  a  stone.  Some  of  these  impatient 
souls  throw  life  away,  and  learn  too  late  how  rich  it 
might  have  been  with  a  stronger  faith,  a  more  sub- 
missive spirit.  Others  are  kept,  and  slowly  taught  to 
stand  and  wait,  till  blest  with  a  happiness  the  sweeter 
for  the  doubt  that  went  before. 

There  came  a  time  to  Christie  when  the  mist  about 
her  was  so  thick  she  would  have  stumbled  and  fallen 
had  not  the  little  candle,  kept  alight  by  her  own  hand, 
showed  her  how  far  "  a  good  deed  shines  in  a  naughty 
world ; "  and  when  God  seemed  utterly  forgetful  of  her 
He  sent  a  friend  to  save  and  comfort  her. 

March  winds  were  whistling  among  the  house-tops, 
and  the  sky  Avas  darkening  with  a  rainy  twilight  as 
Christie  folded  up  her  finished  work,  stretched  her 
weary  limbs,  and  made  ready  for  her  daily  walk.  Even 
this  was  turned  to  profit,  for  then  she  took  home  her 
work,  went  in  search  of  more,  and  did  her  own  small 
marketing.  As  late  hours  and  unhealthy,  labor  de- 
stroyed appetite,  and  unpaid  debts  made  each  mouthful 
difficult  to  swallow  with  Mrs.  Flint's  hard  eye  upon 


THROUGH  TEE  MIST.  151 

her,  she  had  undertaken  to  supply  her  own  food,  and 
so  lessen  the  obligation  that  burdened  her.  An  unwise 
retrenchment,  for,  busied  with  the  tasks  that  must  be 
done,  she  too  often  neglected  or  deferred  the  meals  to 
which  no  society  lent  interest,  no  appetite  gave  flavor ; 
and  when  the  fuel  was  withheld  the  fire  began  to  die 
out  spark  by  spark. 

As  she  stood  before  the  little  miiTor,  smoothing  the 
hair  ui>on  lier  forehead,  she  watched  the  face  reflected 
tlicre,  wondering  if  it  could  be  the  same  she  used  to 
see  so  full  of  youth  and  hope  and  energy. 

"Yes,  I'm  growing  old;  my  youth  is  nearly  over, 
and  at  thirty  I  shall  be  a  faded,  dreary  woman,  like  so 
many  I  see  and  pity.  It 's  hard  to  come  to  this  after 
trying  so  long  to  find  my  place,  and  do  my  duty.  I  'm 
a  finlure  after  all,  and  might  as  well  have  stayed  with 
Aunt  Betsey  or  married  Joe." 

"  Miss  Devon,  to-day  is  Saturday,  and  I  'm  makin'  up 
my  bills,  so  I'll  trouble  you  for  your  month's  board, 
and  as  much  on  the  old  account  as  you  can  let  me 
have." 

Mrs.  Flint  spoke,  and  her  sharp  voice  rasped  the 
silence  like  a  file,  for  she  had  entered  without  knocking, 
and  her  demand  was  the  first  intimation  of  her  pres- 
ence. 

Christie  turned  slowly  round,  for  there  w^as  no  elas- 
ticity in  her  motions  now ;  through  the  melancholy 
anxiety  her  face  always  wore  of  late,  there  came  the 
worried  look  of  one  driven  almost  beyond  endurance, 
and  her  hands  began  to  tremble  nervously  as  she  tied 
on  her  bonnet.  Mrs.  Flint  was  a  hard  woman,  and 
dunned  her  debtors  relentlessly ;  Christie  dreaded  the 


152  WOEK. 

sisrlit  of  her,  and  would  have  left  the  house  had  she 
been  free  of  debt. 

"  I  am  just  going  to  take  these  things  home  and  get 
more  work.  I  am  sure  of  being  paid,  and  you  shall 
have  all  I  get.     But,  for  Heaven's  sake,  give  me  time." 

Two  days  and  a  night  of  almost  uninterrupted  labor 
had  given  a  severe  strain  to  her  nerves,  and  left  her  in 
a  dangerous  state.  Something  in  her  face  arrested 
Mrs.  Flint's  attention  ;  she  observed  that  Christie  was 
putting  on  her  best  cloak  and  hat,  and  to  her  suspicious 
eye  the  bundle  of  work  looked  unduly  large. 

It  had  been  a  hard  day  for  the  poor  woman,  for  the 
cook  had  gone  off  in  a  huff;  the  chamber  girl  been 
detected  in  j^etty  larceny ;  two  desirable  boarders  had 
disappointed  her  ;  and  the  incapable  husband  had  fallen 
ill,  so  it  was  little  wonder  that  her  soul  was  tried,  her 
sharp  voice  sharper,  and  her  sour  temper  sourer  than 
ever. 

"  I  have  heard  of  folks  putting  on  their  best  things 
and  going  out,  but  never  coming  back  again,  when 
they  owed  money.  It 's  a  mean  trick,  but  it 's  some- 
tunes  done  by  them  you  wouldn't  think  it  of,"  she  said, 
with  an  aggravating  sniff  of  intelligence. 

To  be  suspected  of  dishonesty  was  the  last  drop  in 
Christie's  full  cup.  She  looked  at  the  woman  with  a 
strong  desire  to  do  something  violent,  for  every  nerve 
was  tinHinsr  with  irritation  and  anQ:er.  But  she  con- 
trolled  herself,  though  her  face  was  colorless  and  her 
hands  were  more  tremulous  than  before.  Unfastening 
her  comfortable  cloak  she  replaced  it  with  a  shabby 
shawl ;  took  off  her  neat  bonnet  and  put  on  a  hood, 
unfolded  six  linen  shirts,  and  shook  them  out  before  her 


THROUGH  THE  MIST.  153 

landlady's  eyes  ;  then  retied  the  parcel,  and,  pausing  on 
the  threshold  of  the  door,  looked  back  with  an  expres- 
sion that  liaiuited  the  woman  long  afterward,  as  she 
said,  with  the  quiver  of  strong  excitement  in  her  voice  : 

"  Mrs.  Flint,  I  have  always  dealt  honorably  by  you  ; 
I  always  mean  to  do  it,  and  don't  deserve  to  be  sus- 
pected of  dishonesty  like  that.  I  leave  every  thing  I 
own  behind-  me,  and  if  I  don't  come  back,  you  can  sell 
them  all  and  pay  yourself,  for  I  feel  now  as  if  I  7iever 
wanted  to  see  you  or  this  room  again." 

Then  she  went  rapidly  away,  supported  by  her  indig- 
nation, for  she  had  done  her  best  to  pay  her  debts ;  had 
sold  the  iew  trinkets  she  possessed,  and  several  treas- 
ures given  by  the  Carrols,  to  settle  her  doctor's  bill, 
and  had  been  half  killing  herself  to  satisfy  Mrs.  Flint's 
demands.  The  consciousness  that  she  had  been  too 
lavish  in  her  generosity  when  fortune  smiled  upon  her, 
made  the  present  want  all  the  harder  to  bear.  But  she 
would  neither  beg  nor  borrow,  though  she  knew  Harry 
would  delight  to  give,  and  Uncle  Enos  lend  her  money, 
with  a  lecture  on  extravagance,  gratis. 

"I'll  paddle  my  own  canoe  as  long  as  I  can,"  she 
said,  sternly  ;  "  and  when  I  must  ask  help  I  '11  turn  to 
strangers  for  it,  or  scuttle  my  boat,  and  go  down  with- 
out troubling  any  one." 

When  she  came  to  her  employer's  door,  the  servant 
said :  "  Missis  was  out ; "  then  seeing  Christie's  disap- 
pointed face,  she  added,  confidentially : 

"  If  it 's  any  comfort  to  know  it,  I  can  tell  you  that 

missis  wouldn't  have  paid  you  if  she  had  a  been  to 

home.     There's  been  three   other  w^omen  here  with 

work,  and  she 's  put  'em  all  off.     She  always  does,  and 

7* 


154  WORK. 

beats  'em  down  into  the  bargain,  which  ain't  genteel  to 
my  thinkin'." 

"  She  promised  me  I  should  be  well  paid  for  these, 
because  I  undertook  to  get  them  done  without  fail. 
I  've  worked  day  and  night  rather  than  disappoint  lier, 
and  felt  sure  of  my  money,"  said  Christie,  des])ond- 
ently. 

"  I  'm  sorry,  but  you  won't  get  it.  She  told  me  to 
tell  you  your  prices  was  too  high,  and  she  could  tind 
folks  to  work  cheaper." 

*'  She  did  not  object  to  the  price  when  I  took  the 
work,  and  I  have  half-ruined  my  eyes  over  the  fine 
stitching.  See  if  it  isn't  nicely  done."  And  Christie 
displayed  her  exquisite  needlework  with  pride. 

The  girl  admired  it,  and,  having  a  grievance  of  her 
own,  took  satisfoction  in  berating  her  mistress. 

"  It 's  a  shame  !  These  things  are  part  of  a  present 
the  ladies  are  going  to  give  the  minister ;  but  I  don't 
believe  he  '11  feel  easy  in  'em  if  poor  folks  is  wronged 
to  get  'em.  Missis  won't  pay  Avhat  they  are  worth,  I 
know  ;  for,  don't  you  see,  the  cheaper  the  work  is  done, 
the  more  money  she  has  to  make  a  spread  with  her 
share  of  the  present  ?  It 's  my  opinion  you  'd  better 
hold  on  to  these  shirts  till  she  pays  for  'em  handsome." 

"No;  I'll  keep  wy  promise,  and  I  hope  she  will 
keep  hers.  Tell  her  I  need  the  money  very  much,  and 
have  worked  very  hard  to  please  her.  I'll  come  again 
on  Monday,  if  I  'm  able." 

Christie's  lips  trembled  as  she  spoke,  for  she  was 
feeble  still,  and  the  thought  of  that  hard-earned  money 
had  been  her  sustaining  hope  through  the  weary  hours 
spent  over  that  ill-paid  work.    The  girl  said  "  Good- 


THROUGH  THE  MIST.  165 

bye,"  with  a  look  of  mingled  pity  and  respect,  for  in 
her  eyes  the  seamstress  was  more  of  a  lady  than  the 
mistress  in  this  transaction. 

Cliristie  hurried  to  another  place,  and  asked  eagerly 
if  the  young  ladies  had  any  work  for  her.  "  Not  a 
stitch,"  was  the  reply,  and  the  door  closed.  She  stood 
a  moment  looking  down  upon  the  passers-by  wonder- 
ing what  answer  she  would  get  if  she  accosted  any  one ; 
and  had  any  especially  benevolent  face  looked  back  at 
her  she  would  have  been  tempted  to  do  it,  so  heart-sick 
and  forlorn  did  she  feel  just  then. 

She  knocked  at  several  other  doors,  to  receive  the 
same  reply.  She  even  tried  a  slop-shop,  but  it  was 
full,  and  her  pale  face  was  against  her.  Her  long  ill- 
ness had  lost  her  many  patrons,  and  if  one  steps  out 
from  the  ranks  of  needle- women  it  is  very  hard  to  press 
in  again,  so  crowded  are  they,  and  so  desperate  the 
need  of  money. 

One  hope  remained,  and,  though  the  way  was  long, 
ancl  a  foggy  drizzle  had  set  in,  she  minded  neither  dis- 
tance nor  the  chilly  rain,  but  hurried  away  with  anxious 
thoughts  still  dogging  her  steps.  Across  a  long  bridge, 
through  muddy  roads  and  up  a  stately  avenue  she 
went,  pausing,  at  last,  spent  and  breathless  at  another 
door. 

A  servant  with  a  wedding-favor  in  his  button-hole 
opened  to  her,  and,  while  he  w^ent  to  deliver  her  urgent 
message,  she  peered  in  wistfully  fi*om  the  dreary  world 
without,  catching  glimpses  of  home-love  and  happiness 
that  made  her  heart  ache  for  very  pity  of  its  own  lone- 
liness. 

A  weddin»- was  evidently  afoot,  for  hall  and  staircase 


lo6  WOBK. 

* 
blazed  with  light  and  bloomed  with  flowers.  Smiling 
men  and  maids  ran  to  and  fro ;  opening  doors  showed 
tables  beautiful  with  bridal  white  and  silver;  savory 
odors  filled  the  air;  gay  voices  echoed  above  and 
below;  and  once  she  caught  a  brief  glance  at  the 
bonny  bride,  standing  with  her  father's  arm  about  her, 
wliile  her  mother  gave  some  last,  loving  touch  to  her 
array ;  and  a  gi'oup  of  young  sisters  with  April  faces 
clustered  round  her. 

The  pretty  picture  vanished  all  too  soon ;  the  man 
returned  with  a  hurried  "  Xo  "  for  answer,  and  Christie 
went  out  into  the  deepening  twilight  with  a  strange 
sense  of  desperation  at  her  heart.  It  was  not  the 
refusal,  not  the  fear  of  want,  nor  the  reaction  of  over- 
taxed nerves  alone ;  it  was  the  shai-pness  of  the  con- 
trast between  that  other  woman's  fate  and  her  own  that 
made  her  wring  her  hands  together,  and  cry  out, 
bitterly  : 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  fair,  it  isn't  right,  that  she  should  have 
so  much  and  I  so  little !  What  have  I  ever  done  to  be 
so  desolate  and  miserable,  and  never  to  find  any  happi- 
ness, however  hard  I  try  to  do  what  seems  my  duty  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer,  and  she  went  slowly  down  the 
long  avenue,  feeling  that  there  was  no  cause  for  hurry 
now,  and  even  night  and  rain  and  wind  were  better 
than  her  lonely  room  or  Mrs.  Flint's  complaints.  Afar 
off  the  city  lights  shone  faintly  through  the  fog,  like 
pale  lamps  seen  in  dreams ;  the  damp  air  cooled  her 
feverish  cheeks ;  the  road  was  dark  and  still,  and  she 
longed  to  lie  down  and  rest  among  the  sodden  leaves. 

When  she  reached  the  bridge  she  saw  the  draw  was 
up,  and  a  spectral   ship  was  slowly  passing  through. 


THROUOn  THE  MIST.  157 

With  no  desire  to  mingle  in  the  crowd  that  waited  on 
either  side,  she  paused,  and,  leaning  on  the  railing,  let 
her  thoughts  wander  where  they  would.  As  she  stood 
tliere  the  heavy  air  seemed  to  clog  her  breath  and 
wrap  her  in  its  chilly  arms.  She  felt  as  if  the  springs 
of  life  were  running  down,  and  presently  would  stop ; 
for,  even  when  the  old  question,  "  What  shall  1  do  ?  " 
came  haunting  her,  she  no  longer  cared  even  to  try  to 
answer  it,  and  had  no  feeling  but  one  of  utter  weari- 
ness. She  tried  to  shake  off  the  strange  mood  that 
was  stealing  over  her,  but  spent  body  and  spent  brain 
were  not  strong  enough  to  obey  her  will,  and,  in  spite 
of  her  efforts  to  control  it,  the  impulse  that  had  seized 
her  grew  more  intense  each  moment. 

"  Why  should  I  work  and  suffer  any  longer  for  my- 
self alone  ? "  she  thought ;  "  why  wear  out  my  life 
struggling  for  the  bread  I  have  no  heart  to  eat  ?  I  am 
not  wise  enough  to  find  my  place,  nor  patient  enough 
to  wait  until  it  comes  to  me.  Better  give  up  trying, 
and  leave  room  for  those  who  have  something  to  live 
for." 

Many  a  stronger  soul  has  known  a  dark  hour  when 
the  importunate  wish  has  risen  that  it  were  possible 
and  right  to  lay  down  the  burdens  that  oppress,  the 
perplexities  that  harass,  and  hasten  the  coming  of  the 
long  sleep  that  needs  no  lullaby.  Such  an  hour  was 
this  to  Christie,  for,  as  she  stood  there,  that  sorrowful 
bewilderment  which  we  call  despair  came  over  her,  and 
ruled  her  with  a  power  she  could  not  resist. 

A  flight  of  steps  close  by  led  to  a  lumber  wharf,  and, 
scarcely  knowing  why,  she  w^ent  down  there,  with  a 
vague  desire  to  sit  still  somewhere,  and  think  her  way 


158  WORK. 

out  of  the  mist  that  seemed  to  obscure  her  mind.  A 
single  tall  lamp  shone  at  the  farther  end  of  the  plat- 
form, and  presently  she  found  lierself  leaning  her  hot 
forehead  against  the  iron  pillar,  while  she  watched  with 
curious  interest  the  black  water  rolling  sluggishly 
below. 

She  knew  it  was  no  place  for  her,  yet  no  one  waited 
for  her,  no  one  would  care  if  she  staid  for  ever,  and, 
yielding  to  the  perilous  fascination  that  drew  her  there, 
she  Ungered  wdth  a  heavy  throbbing  in  her  temples,  and 
a  troop  of  wild  fancies  whirling  through  her  brain. 
Something  white  swept  by  below,  —  only  a  broken  oar 
—  but  she  began  to  wonder  how  a  human  body  would 
look  floating  through  the  night.  It  was  an  awesome 
fancy,  but  it  took  possession  of  her,  and,  as  it  grew,  her 
eyes  dilated,  her  breath  came  last,  and  her  lips  fell 
apart,  for  she  seemed  to  see  the  phantom  she  had  con- 
jured up,  and  it  wore  the  likeness  of  herself 

With  an  ominous  chill  creeping  through  her  bloody 
and  a  growing  tumult  in  her  mind,  she  thought,  "  I 
must  go,"  but  still  stood  motionless,  leaning  over  the 
wide  gulf,  eager  to  see  where  that  dead  thing  would 
pass  away.  So  plainly  did  she  see  it,  so  peaceful  was 
the  white  face,  so  full  of  rest  the  folded  hands,  so 
strangely  like,  and  yet  unlike,  herself,  that  she  seemed 
to  lose  her  identity,  and  wondered  which  was  the  real 
and  which  the  imaginary  Christie.  Lower  and  lower 
she  bent ;  looser  and  looser  grew  her  hold  upon  the 
l^illar ;  faster  and  faster  beat  the  pulses  in  her  temples, 
and  the  rush  of  some  blind  impulse  was  swiftly  coming 
on,  when  a  hand  seized  and  caught  her  back. 

For  an  instant  every  thing  grew  black  before  her 


TnnouGn  the  mist. 


159 


eyes,  and  the  earth  seemed  to  elip  away  from  under- 
neath her  feet.  Then  she  was  lierself  again,  and  found 
that  slie  was  sitting  on  a  pile  of  hnnber,  with  her  head 
uncovereil,  and  a  woman's  arm  about  her. 


The  Rescue. 


"  Was  I  going  to  drown  myself?  "  she  asked,  slowly, 
with  a  fancy  that  she  had  been  dreaming  frightfully, 
and  some  one  had  wakened  her. 


160  WORK. 

"  You  were  most  gone ;  but  I  came  in  time,  thank 
God  !     O  Christie  !  don't  you  know  me  ?  " 

Ah  !  no  fear  of  that ;  for  with  one  bewildered  look, 
one  glad  cry  of  recognition,  Christie  found  her  friend 
again,  and  was  gathered  close  to  Rachel's  heart. 

"My  dear,  my  dear,  what  drove  you  to  it?  Tell 
me  all,  and  let  me  help  you  in  your  trouble,  as  you 
helped  me  in  mine,"  she  said,  as  she  tenderly  laid  the 
poor,  white  face  upon  her  breast,  and  wrapped  her 
shawl  about  the  trembling  figure  clinging  to  her  with 
such  passionate  delight. 

"I  have  been  ill;  I  worked  too  hard;  I'm  not 
myself  to-night.  I  owe  money.  People  disappoint  and 
worry  me ;  and  I  was  so  worn  out,  and  weak,^  and 
wicked,  I  think  I  meant  to  take  my  life." 

"  No,  dear ;  it  was  not  you  that  meant  to  do  it, 
but  the  weakness  and  the  trouble  that  bewildered  you. 
Forget  it  all,  and  rest  a  little,  safe  with  me ;  then  we  '11 
talk  again." 

Rachel  spoke  soothingly,  for  Christie  shivered  and 
sighed  as  if  her  own  thoughts  frightened  her.  For  a 
moment  they  sat  silent,  while  the  mist  trailed  its  white 
shroud  above  them,  as  if  death  had  paused  to  beckon 
a  tired  child  away,  but,  finding  her  so  gently  cradled 
on  a  warm,  human  heart,  had  relented  and  passed  on, 
leaving  no  waif  but  the  broken  oar  for  the  river  to 
carry  toward  the  sea. 

"  Tell  me  about  yourself,  Rachel.  Where  have  you 
been  so  long  ?  I  've  looked  and  waited  for  you  ever 
since  the  second  little  note  you  sent  me  on  last  Christ- 
mas ;  but  you  never  came." 

"  I  've  been  away,  dear  heart,  hard  at  work  in  another 


THROUGH   THE  MIST.  161 

city,  larger  and  wickeder  than  this.  I  tried  to  get  work 
here,  that  I  might  be  near  you ;  but  that  cruel  Cotton 
always  found  me  out ;  and  I  was  so  afraid  I  should  get 
desperate  that  I  went  away  where  I  was  not  known. 
There  it  came  into  my  mind  tc?  do  for  others  more 
wretched  than  I  what  you  had  done  for  me.^  God  put 
the  thought  into  my  heart,  and  he  helped  me  in  my 
work,  for  it  has  prospered  wonderfully.  All  tliis  year 
I  have  been  busy  with  it,  and  almost  happy ;  for  I  felt 
that  your  love  made  me  strong  to  do  it,  and  tliat,  in 
time,  I  might  grow  good  enough  to  be  your  friend." 

"  See  what  I  am,  Rachel,  and  never  say  that  any 
more ! " 

"  Ilush,  my  poor  dear,  and  let  me  talk  !  You  are  not 
able  to  do  anything,  but  rest,  and  listen:  I  knew  how 
many  poor  souls  went  wrong  when  the  devil  tempted 
them ;  and  I  gave  all  my  strength  to  saving  those  who 
were  going  the  way  I  went.  I  had  no  fear,  no  shame 
to  overcome,  for  I  was  one  of  them.  They  would  listen 
to  me,  for  I  knew  what  I  spoke  ;  they  could  believe  in 
salvation,  for  I  was  saved  ;  they  did  not  feel  so  outcast 
and  forlorn  when  I  told  them  you  had  taken  me  into 
your  innocent  arms,  and  loved  me  like  a  sister.  With 
every  one  I  helped  my  power  increased,  and  I  felt  as  if 
I  had  washed  away  a  little  of  my  own  great  sin.  O 
Christie !  never  think  it 's  time  to  die  till  you  are  called ; 
for  tlie  Lord  leaves  us  till  we  have  done  our  work,  and 
never  sends  more  sin  and  sorrow  than  we  can  bear  and 
be  the  better  for,  if  we  hold  fast  by  Him." 

So  beautiful  and  brave  she  looked,  so  full  of  strength 
and  yet  of  meek  submission  was  her  voice,  that  Chris- 
tie's  heart  was  thrilled;  for  it  was  plain  that  Rachel 


162  WORE. 

had  learned  how  to  distil  balm  from  the  bitterness  of 
life,  and,  groping  in  the  mire  to  save  lost  souls,  had 
found  her  own  salvation  there. 

"  Show  me  how  to  grow  pious,  strong,  and  useful,  as 
you  are,"  she  said.  "  I  am  all  wrong,  and  feel  as  if  I 
never  could  get  right  again,  for  I  haven't  energy 
enough  to  care  what  becomes  of  me." 

"  I  know  the  state,  Christie  :  I  've  been  through  it  all ! 
but  when  I  stood  where  you  stand  now,  there  was  no 
hand  to  pull  me  back,  and  I  fell  into  a  blacker  river 
than  this  underneath  our  feet.  Thank  God,  I  came  in 
time  to  save  you  from  either  death  !  " 

"  How  did  you  find  me  ?  "  asked  Christie,  when  she 
had  echoed  in  her  heart  the  thankscrivinoj  that  came 
with  such  fervor  from  the  other's  lips. 

"  I  i^assed  you  on  the  bridge,  I  did  not  see  your  face, 
but  you  stood  leaning  there  so  wearily,  and  looking 
down  into  the  water,  as  I  used  to  look,  that  I  wanted  to 
speak,  but  did  not ;  and  I  went  on  to  comfort  a  poor 
girl  who  is  dying  yonder.  Something  turned  me  back, 
however;  and  when  I  saw  you  down  here  I  knew  why 
I  was  sent.  You  were  almost  gone,  but  I  kept  you ; 
and  when  I  had  you  in  my  arms  I  knew  you,  though 
it  nearly  broke  my  heart  to  find  you  here.  Xow,  dear, 
come  home. 

"  Home !  ah,  Eachel,  I  've  got  no  home,  and  for  want 
of  one  I  shall  be  lost !  " 

The  lament  that  broke  from  her  was  more  pathetic 
than  the  tears  that  streamed  down,  hot  and  heavy, 
melting  from  her  heart  the  frost  of  her  despair.  Her 
friend  let  her  weep,  knowing  Veil  the  worth  of  tears, 
and  while  Christie  sobbed  herself  quiet,  Rachel  took 
thought  for  her  as  tenderly  as  any  mother. 


THROUGH  THE  MIST.  163 

When  Bhe  had  heard  the  story  of  Christie's  troubles, 
she  stood  up  as  if  iu spired  with  a  happy  thought,  and 
stretching  both  hands  to  her  friend,  said,  witli  an  air 
of  cheerful  assurance  most  comforting  to  see : 

"  I  '11  take  care  of  you  ;  come  with  me,  my  poor  Chris- 
tie, and  I  '11  give  you  a  home,  very  humble,  but  honest 
and  happy." 

"With  you,  Rachel?" 

"  No,  dear,  I  must  go  back  to  my  work,  and  you  are 
not  fit  for  that.  Neither  must  you  go  again  to  your 
own  room,  because  for  you  it.  is  haunted,  and  the  worst 
place  you  could  be  in.  You  want  change,  and  I  '11  give 
you  one.  It  will  seem  queer  at  first,  but  it  is  a  whole- 
some place,  and  just  what  you  need." 

"  I  '11  do  any  thing  you  tell  me.  I  'ra  past  thinking  for 
myself  to-night,  and  only  want  to  be  taken  care  of 
till  I  find  strength  and  courage  enough  to  stand  alone," 
said  Christie,  rising  slowly  and  looking  about  her  with 
an  aspect  as  helpless  and  hopeless  as  if  the  cloud  of 
mist  was  a  wall  of  iron. 

Rachel  put  on  her  bonnet  for  her  and  wrapped  her 
shawl  about  her,  saying,  in  a  tender  voice,  that  warmed 
the  other's  heart : 

"  Close  by  lives  a  dear,  good  woman  who  often  be- 
friends such  as  you  and  I.  She  will  take  you  in  with- 
out a  question,  and  love  to  do  it,  for  she  is  the  most 
hospitable  soul  I  know.  Just  tell  her  you  want  work, 
that  I  sent  you,  and  there  will  be  no  trouble.  Then, 
when  you  know  her  a  little,  confide  in  her,  and  you 
will  never  come  to  such  a  pass  as  this  again.  Keep  up 
your  heart,  dear ;  I  '11  not  leave  you  till  you  are  safe." 

So  cheerily  she  spoke,  so  confident  she  looked,   that 


164  WOIiK. 

the  lost  expression  passed  from  Christie's  fiice,  and 
hand  in  hand  they  went  away  together,  —  two  types  of 
the  sad  sisterhood  standing  on  either  shore  of  the  dark 
river  that  is  spanned  by  a  Bridge  of  Sighs. 

Rachel  led  her  friend  toward  the  city,  and,  coming 
to  the  mechanics'  quarter,  stopped  before  the  door  of 
a  small,  old  house. 

"  Just  knock,  say  '  Rachel  sent  me,'  and  you  '11  find 
yourself  at  home." 

"  Stay  with  me,  or  let  me  go  with  you.  I  can't  lose 
you  again,  for  I  need  you  very  much,"  pleaded  Christie, 
clincjino^  to  her  fiiend. 

"Not  so  much  as  that  poor  girl  dying  all  alone. 
She's  waiting  for  me,  and  I  must  go.  But  I  '11  write 
soon ;  and  remember,  Christie,  I  shall  feel  as  if  I  had 
only  paid  a  very  little  of  my  debt  if  you  go  back  to  the 
sad  old  life,  and  lose  your  foith  and  hope  again.  God 
bless  and  keep  you,  and  when  we  meet  next  time  let 
me  find  a  happier  face  than  this." 

Rachel  kissed  it  with  her  heart  on  her  lips,  smiled 
her  brave  sweet  smile,  and  vanished  in  the  mist. 

Pausing  a  moment  to  collect  herself,  Christie  recol- 
lected that  she  had  not  asked  the  name  of  the  new 
friend  whose  help  she  was  about  to  ask.  '  A  little  sign 
on  the  door  caught  her  eye,  and,  bending  down,  she 
managed  to  read  by  the  dim  light  of  the  street  lamp 
these  words : 

«C.  WiLKixs,  Clear-Starcher. 
"Laces  done  up  in  the  best  style." 

Too  tired  to  care  whether  a  laundress  or  a  lady  took 
her  in,  she  knocked  timidly,  and,  while  she  waited  for 


THROUGH  THE  MIST.  165 

an  answer  to  her  summons,  stood  listening  to  the  noises 
within. 

A  swashing  sound  as  of  water  was  audible,  likewise  a 
{jcuttling  as  of  flying  feet ;  some  one  chipped  hands,  and 
a  voice  said,  warningly,  "  Into  your  beds  this  instant 
minute  ■  or  I  '11  come  to  yon  !  Andrew  Jackson,  give 
Gusty  a  boost ;  Ann  Lizy,  don't  you  tech  Wash's  feet 
to  tickle  'em.  Set  pretty  in  the  tub,  Victory,  dear, 
while  ma  sees  who's  rappin'." 


"  C.  WiLKiNS,  Clear  Starcher. 

Then  heavy  footsteps  approached,  the  door  opened 
wide,  and  a  large  woman  appeared,  with  fuzzy  red 
hair,  no  front  teeth,  and  a  plump,  clean  face,  brightly 
illuminated  by  the  lamp  she  carried. 

"If  you  please,  Rachel  sent  me.  She  thought  you 
mi^ht  be  able"  — 

Christie  got  no  further,  for  C.  Wilkins  put  out^  a 
strong  bare  arm,  stiU  damp,  and  gently  drew  her  in. 


166  WORK. 

saying,  with  the  same  motlierly  tone  as  when  address- 
ing her  children,  "  Come  right  in,  dear,  and  don't  mind 
the  clutter  things  is  in.  I  'm  givin'  the  children  their 
Sat'day  scrubbin',  and  they  will  slop  and  kite  'round, 
no  matter  ef  I  do  sj^ank  'em." 

Talking  all  the  way  in  such  an  easy,  comfortable 
voice  that  Christie  felt  as  if  she  must  have  heard  it 
before,  Mrs.  Wilkins  led  her  unexpected  guest  into  a 
small  kitchen,  smelling  suggestively  of  soap-suds  and 
warm  flat-irons.  In  the  middle  of  this  apartment  was 
a  large  tub ;  in  the  tub  a  chubby  child  sat,  sucking  a 
sponge  and  staring  calmly  at  the  new-comer  with  a 
pair  of  big  blue  eyes,  while  little  drops  shone  in  the 
yellow  curls  and  on  the  rosy  shoulders. 

"  How  pretty ! "  cried  Christie,  seeing  nothing  else 
and  stopping  short  to  admire  this  innocent  little  Venus 
rising  from  the  sea. 

"  So  she  is !  Ma's  darlin'  lamb !  and  ketchin'  her 
death  a  cold  this  blessed  minnit.  Set  right  down,  my 
dear,  and  tuck  your  wet  feet  into  the  oven.  I'll  have 
a  dish  o'  tea  for  you  in  less  'n  no  time ;  and  while  it 's 
drawin'  I  '11  clap  Victory  Adelaide  into  her  bed." 

Christie  sank  into  a  shabby  but  most  hospitable  old 
chair,  dropped  her  bonnet  on  the  floor,  put  her  feet  in 
the  oven,  and,  leaning  back,  watched  Mrs.  Wilkins 
wipe  the  baby  as  if  she  had  come  for  that  especial  pur- 
pose. As  Rachel  predicted,  she  found  herself  at  home 
at  once,  and  presently  was  startled  to  hear  a  laugh 
from  her  own  lips  when  several  children  in  red  and 
yellow  flannel  night-gowns  darted  like  meteors  across 
the  open  doorway  of  an  adjoining  room,  with  whoops 
and  howls,  bursts  of  laughter,  and  antics  of  all  sorts. 


THROUGH  THE  MIST.  167 

How  pleasant  it  was ;  that  plain  room,  with  no  orna- 
ments but  the  happy  faces,  no  elegance,  but  cleanliness, 
no  wealth,  but  hospitality  and  lots  of  love.  This  lat- 
ter blessing  gave  the  place  its  charm,  for,  though  Mrs. 
Wilkins  threatened  to  take  her  infants'  noses  off  if  they 
got  out  of  bed  again,  or  "put  'em  in  the  kettle  and 
bile  'em  "  they  evidently  knew  no  fear,  but  gambolled 
all  the  nearer  to  her  for  the  threat;  and  she  beamed 
upon  them  with  such  maternal  tenderness  and  pride 
that  her  homely  face  grew  beautiful  in  Christie's  eyes. 

When  the  baby  was  bundled  up  in  a  blanket  and 
about  to  be  set  down  before  the  stove  to  simmer  a 
trifle  before  being  put  to  bed,  Christie  held  out  her 
arms,  saying  with  an  irresistible  longing  in  her  eyes 
and  voice: 

«  Let  me  hold  her!  I  love  babies  dearly,  and  it  seems 
as  if  it  would  do  me  more  good  than  quarts  of  tea  to 
cuddle  her,  if  she  '11  let  me." 

"  There  now,  that 's  real  sensible  ;  and  mother's  bird  '11 
set  along  w^ith  you  as  good  as  a  kitten.  Toast  her 
tootsies  wal,  for  she's  croupy,  and  I  have  to  be  extra 
choice  of  her." 

«  How  good  it  feels  !  "  sighed  Christie,  half  devouring 
the  warm  and  rosy  little  bunch  in  her  lap,  while  baby 
lay  back  luxuriously,  spreading  her  pink  toes  to  the 
pleasant  warmth  and  smiHng  sleepily  up  in  the  hungry 
face  that  hung  over  her, 

Mrs.  Wilkins's  quick  eyes  saw  it  all,  and  she  said  to 
herself,  in  the  closet,  as  she  cut  bread  and  rattled  down 
a  cup  and  saucer : 

« That 's  what  she  wants,  poor  creeter ;  I  '11  let  her 
have  a  right  nice  time,  and  wai-m  and  feed  and  chirk 


168  WORK. 

her  up,  and  then  I  '11  see  what 's  to  be  clone  for  her.  She 
ain't  one  of  the  common  sort,  and  goodness  only  knows 
what  Rachel  sent  her  here  for.  She  's  poor  and  sick, 
but  she  ain't  bad.  I  can  tell  that  by  her  face,  and  she's 
the  sort  I  like  to  help.  It 's  a  mercy  I  ain't  eat  my  sup- 
per, so  she  can  have  that  bit  of  meat  and  the  pie." 

Putting  a  tray  on  the  little  table,  the  good  soul  set 
forth  all  she  had  to  give,  and  oifered  it  with  such  hos- 
pitable warmth  that  Christie  ate  and  drank  with  un- 
accustomed appetite,  finishing  off  deliciously  with  a 
kiss  from  baby  before  she  was  borne  away  by  her 
mother  to  the  back  bedroom,  wliere  peace  soon 
reigned. 

"  Now  let  me  tell  you  who  I  am,  and  how  I  came  to 
you  in  such  an  unceremonious  way,"  began  Christie, 
when  her  hostess  returned  and  found  her  warmed, 
refreshed,  and  composed  by  a  woman's  three  best  com- 
forters, —  kind  words,  a  baby,  and  a  cup  of  tea. 

"'Pears  to  me,  dear,  I  wouldn't  rile  myself  up  by 
telling  any  werryments  to-night,  but  git  right  warm 
inter  bed,  and  have  a  good  long  sleep,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
kins,  without  a  ray  of  curiosity  in  her  wholesome  red 
face. 

"But  you  don't  know  any  thing  about  me,  and  I  may 
be  the  worst  woman  in  the  world,"  cried  Christie, 
anxious  to  prove  herself  worthy  of  such  confidence. 

"  I  know  that  you  want  takin'  care  of,  child,  or 
Rachel  wouldn't  a  sent  you.  Ef  I  can  help  any  one,  I 
don't  want  no  introduction ;  and  ef  you  be  the  wust 
woman  in  the  world  (which  you  ain't),  I  wouldn't  shet 
my  door  on  you,  for  then  you  'd  need  a  lift  more  'n  you 
do  now." 


THROUOn  THE  MIST.  169 

Christie   couia   only  put  out  her  hand,  and  mutely 
thank  her  new  friend  with  lull  eyes. 

"You're  fairly  tuckered  out,  you  poor  soul,  so  you 
iest  come  right  up  chamber  and  let  me  tuck  you 
up,  else  you  '11  be  down  sick.  It  ain't  a  might  of  incon- 
venience ;  the  room  is  kep  for  company,  and  it  s  all 
ready,  even  to  a  clean  night-cap.  I'm  gom  to  clap 
this  warm  flat  to  your  feet  when  you're  fixed;  it  s 
amazin'  comfortin'  and  keeps  your  head  cool. 

Up  they  went  to  a  tidy  little  chamber,  and  Christie 
found  herself  laid  down  to  rest  none  too  soon,  for  she 
was  quite  worn  out.  Sleep  began  to  steal  over  her  the 
moment  her  head  touched  the  pillow,  in  spite  of  the 
much  beruffled  cap  which  Mrs.  Wilkins  put  on  with 
visible  pride  m  its  stiffly  crimped  borders.  She  was 
dimly  conscious  of  a  kind  hand  tucking  her  up,  a  com- 
fortable voice  puiTing  over  her,  and,  best  of  all  a 
motherly  good-night  kiss,  then  the  weary  world  faded 
quite  away  and  she  was  at  rest. 


CHAPTER  YIII. 


A   CUBE    FOB   DESPAIE. 


LlSHA    WiLKINS. 


WHEX  Christie  opened  the  eyes  that  had  closed 
so  wearily,  afternoon  sunshine  streamed  across 
the  room,  and  seemed  the  herald  of  happier  days. 
Refreslied  by  sleep,  and  comforted  by  grateful  recollec- 
tions of  her  kindly  welcome,  she  lay  tranquilly  enjoy- 
ing the  friendly  atmosphere  about  her,  with  so  strong  a 
feeling  that  a  skilful  hand  had  taken  the  rudder,  tliat 
she  felt  very  little  anxiety  or  curiosity  about  the  haven 
which  was  to  receive  her  boat  after  this  narrow  escape 
from  shipwreck. 


A   CURE  FOR  DESPAIR.  ITI 

ITcr  eye  wandered  to  and  fro,  and  brightened  as  it 
went ;  for  tliougli  a  poor,  j)lain  room  it  was  as  neat  as 
bands  could  make  it,  and  so  glorified  with  sunshine 
that  she  thought  it  a  lovely  place,  in  spite  of  the  yellow 
paper  with  green  cabbage  roses  on  it,  the  gorgeous 
plaster  statuary  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  the  fragrance 
of  dough-nuts  which  pervaded  the  air.  Every  thing 
suggested  home  life,  humble  but  happy,  and  Christie's 
solitary  heart  warmed  at  the  sights  and  sounds  about 
her. 

A  half  open  closet-door  gave  her  glimpses  of  little 
frocks  and  jackets,  stubby  little  shoes,  and  go-to-meet-- 
ing  hats  all  in  a  row.  From  below  came  up  the  sound 
of  childish  voices  chattering,  childish  feet  trotting  to 
and  fro,  and  childish  laughter  sounding  sweetly  through 
the  Sabbath  stillness  of  the  place.  From  a  room  near 
by,  came  the  soothing  creak  of  a  rocking-chair,  the 
rustle  of  a  newspaper,  and  now  and  then  a  scrap  of 
conversation  common-place  enough,  but  pleasant  to 
hear,  because  so  full  of  domestic  love  and  confidence ; 
and,  as  she  listened,  Christie  pictured  Mrs.  Wilkins  and 
her  husband  taking  their  rest  together  after  the  week's 
hard  work  was  done. 

"  I  wish  I  could  stay  here ;  it 's  so  comfortable  and 
home-like.  I  wonder  if  they  wouldn't  let  me  have  this 
room,  and  help  me  to  find  some  better  work  than  sew- 
ing? I'll  get  up  and  ask  them,"  thought  Christie, 
feeling  an  irresistible  desire  to  stay,  and  strong  repug- 
nance to  returning  to  the  room  she  had  left,  for,  as 
Rachel  truly  said,  it  icas  haunted  for  her. 

When  she  opened  the  door  to  go  down,  Mrs.  Wilkins 


172  WORK. 

bounced  out  of  her  rocking-chair  and  hurried  to  meet 
her  with  a  smiling  fiice,  saying  all  in  one  breath  : 

"  Good  mornin',  dear !  Rested  well,  I  hope  ?  I  'm 
proper  glad  to  hear  it.  Now  come  right  down  and 
have  your  dinner.  I  kep  it  hot,  for  I  couldn't  bear  to 
wake  you  up,  you  was  sleepin'  so  beautiful." 

"  I  was  so  worn  out  I  slept  like  a  baby,  and  feel  like 
a  new  creature.  It  was  so  kind  of  you  to  take  me  in, 
and  I  'm  so  grateful  I  don't  know  how  to  show  it,"  said 
Christie,  warmly,  as  her  hostess  ponderously  descended 
the  complaining  stairs  and  ushered  her  into  the  tidy 
kitchen  from  which  tubs  and  flat-irons  were  banished 
one  day  in  the  week. 

"  Lawful  sakes,  the'  ain't  nothing  to  be  grateful  for, 
child,  and  you  're  heartily  welcome  to  the  little  I  done. 
We  are  country  folks  in  our  ways,  though  we  be  livin' 
in  the  city,  and  we  have  a  reg'lar  country  dinner  Sun- 
days. Hope  you'll  relish  it;  my  vittles  is  clean  ef 
they  ain't  rich." 

As  she  spoke,  Mrs.  Wilkins  dished  up  baked  beans, 
Indian-pudding,  and  brown  bread  enough  for  half  a 
dozen.  Christie  was  hungry  now,  and  ate  with  an 
appetite  that  delighted  the  good  lady  who  vibrated 
between  her  guest  and  her  children,  shut  up  in  the 
"  settin'-room." 

"  Now  please  let  me  tell  you  all  about  myself,  for  I 
am  afraid  you  think  me  something  better  than  I  am. 
If  I  ask  help  from  you,  it  is  right  that  you  should 
know  whom  you  are  helpings"  said  Christie,  when  the 
table  was  cleared  and  her  hostess  came  and  sat  down 
beside  her. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  free  your  mind,  and  then  we  '11  fix 


A   CUBE  FOR  DESPAIR.  173 

things  up  right  smart.  Xothin'  I  like  better,  and  Lisha 
says  I  have  considerable  of  a  knack  that  way,"  replied 
Mrs.  Wilkins,  with  a  smile,  a  nod,  and  an  air  of  interest 
most  reassuring. 

So  Christie  told  her  story,  won  to  entire  confidence 
by  the  sympathetic  face  opposite,  and  the  motherly  pats 
so  gently  given  by  the  big,  rough  hand  that  often  met 
her  own.  When  all  was  told,  Christie  said  very  ear- 
nestly : 

"  I  am  ready  to  go  to  work  to-morrow,  and  will  do 
any  thing  I  can  find,  but  I  should  love  to  stay  here  a 
little  while,  if  I  could ;  I  do  so  dread  to  be  alone.  Is 
it  possible  ?  I  mean  to  pay  my  board  of  course,  and 
help  you  besides  if  you  '11  let  me." 

Mrs.  Wilkins  glowed  with  pleasure  at  this  compli- 
ment, and  leaning  toward  Christie,  looked  into  her  face 
a  moment  in  silence,  as  if  to  test  the  sincerity  of  the 
wish.  In  that  moment  Christie  saw  what  steady,  saga- 
cious eyes  the  w^oman  had ;  so  clear,  so  honest  that 
she  looked  through  them  into  the  great,  warm  heart 
below,  and  looking  forgot  the  fuzzy,  red  hair,  the  pau- 
city of  teeth,  the  faded  gown,  and  felt  only  the  attrac- 
tion of  a  nature  genuine  and  genial  as  the  sunshine 
dancing  on  the  kitchen  floor. 

Beautiful  souls  often  get  put  into  plain  bodies,  but 
they  cannot  be  hidden,  and  have  a  power  all  their  own, 
the  greater  for  the  unconsciousness  or  the  humility 
which  gives  it  grace.  Christie  saw  and  felt  this  then, 
and  when  the  homely  woman  spoke,  listened  to  her 
Tvith  implicit  confidence. 

"  My  dear,  I  'd  no  more  send  you  away  now  than  I 
would  my  Adelaide,  for  you  need  looking  after  for  a 


174  WORK. 

spell,  most  as  much  as  she  doos.  Yon  've  been  thinkin' 
and  broodin'  too  much,  and  sewin'  yourself  to  death. 
We'll  stop  all  that,  and  keep  you  so  busy  tliere  won't 
be  no  time  for  the  hypo.  You're  one  of  them  that 
can't  live  alone  without  starvin'  somehow,  so  I'm  jest 
goin'  to  turn  you  in  among  them  children  to  paster,  so 
to  speak.  That 's  wholesome  and  fillin'  for  you,  and 
goodness  knows  it  will  be  a  pufFect  charity  to  me,  for 
I  'm  goin'  to  be  dreadful  drove  with  gettin'  up  curtins 
and  all  manner  of  things,  as  spring  comes  on.  So  it 
ain't  no  favor  on  my  part,  and  you  can  take  out  your 
board  in  ten  din'  baby  and  putterin'  over  them  little 
tykes." 

"  I  should  like  it  so  much  !  But  I  forgot  my  debt  to 
Mrs.  Flint ;  perhaps  she  won't  let  me  go,"  said  Christie, 
with  an  anxious  cloud  coming  over  her  brightening 
iiice. 

"  Merciful,  suz !  don't  you  be  werried  about  her.  I  '11 
see  to  her,  and  ef  slie  acts  ugly  Lisha  '11  fetch  her 
round ;  men  can  always  settle  such  things  better  'n  we 
can,  and  he  's  a  dreadful  smart  man  Lisha  is.  We  '11 
go  to-morrer  and  get  your  belongins,  and  then  settle 
right  down  for  a  spell ;  and  by-an'-by  when  you  git  a 
trifle  more  chipper  we  '11  find  a  nice  place  in  the  countiy 
some'rs.  That 's  what  you  want ;  nothin'  like  green 
grass  and  woodsy  smells  to  right  folks  up.  When  I 
was  a  gal,  ef  I  got  low  in  my  mind,  or  riled  in  my 
temper,  I  jest  went  out  and  grubbed  in  the  gardin,  or 
made  hay,  or  walked  a  good  piece,  and  it  fetched  me 
round  beautiful.  Xever  failed ;  so  I  come  to  see  that 
good  fresh  dirt  is  fust  rate  physic  for  folk's  spirits  as 
it  is  for  wounds,  as  they  tell  on." 


A   CUBE  FOB  DESPAIB.  175 

"That  sounds  sensible  and  pleasant,  and  I  like  it. 
Oh,  it  is  so  beautiful  to  feel  that  somebody  cares  for 
you  a  little  bit,  and  you  ain't  one  too  many  in  the 
world,"  sighed  Christie. 

"  Don't  you  never  feel  that  agin,  ray  dear.  What's 
the  Lord  for  ef  he  ain't  to  hold  on  to  in  times  of 
trouble.  Faith  ain't  wuth  much  ef  it 's  only  lively  in 
foir  Aveather ;  you  've  got  to  believe  hearty  and  stan' 
by  the  Lord  through  thick  and  thin,  and  he  '11  stan'  by 
you  as  no  one  else  begins  to.  I  remember  of  havin' 
this  bore  in  upon  me  by  somethin'  that  happened  to  a 
man  I  knew.  He  got  blowed  up  in  a  powder-mill,  and 
when  folks  asked  him  what  he  thought  when  the  bust 
come,  he  said,  real  sober  and  impressive  :  '  Wal,  it  come 
through  me,  like  a  flash,  that  I  'd  served  the  Lord  as 
faitliful  as  I  knew  how  for  a  number  a  years,  and  I 
guessed  he  'd  fetch  me  through  somehow,  and  he  did.' 
Sure  enough  the  man  warn't  killed ;  I  'm  bound  to 
confess  he  was  shook  dreadful,  but  his  faith  warn't." 

Christie  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  story,  but  she 
liked  it,  and  sincerely  wished  she  could  imitate  the 
hero  of  it  in  his  piety,  not  his  powder.  She  was  about 
to  say  so  when  the  sound  of  approaching  steps  an- 
nounced the  advent  of  her  host.  She  had  been  rather 
impressed  with  the  "  smartness  "  of  Lisha  by  his  wife's 
praises,  but  when  a  small,  sallow,  sickly  looking  man 
came  in  she  changed  her  mind ;  for  not  even  an  im- 
mensely stiff*  collar,  nor  a  pair  of  boots  that  seemed 
composed  entirely  of  what  the  boys  call  "  creak  leather," 
could  inspire  her  with  confidence. 

Without  a  particle  of  expression  in  his  yellow  face, 
Mr.  Wilkins  nodded  to  the  stranger  over  the  picket 


176  WORK. 

fence  of  his  collar,  lighted  his  pipe,  and  clumped  away 
to  enjoy  his  al'ternoon  promenade  without  compromis- 
ing himself  by  a  single  word. 

His  wife  looked  after  him  with  an  admiring  gaze  as 
she  said  : 

"  Them  boots  is  as  good  as  an  advertisement,  for  he 
made  every  stitch  on  'em  himself;"  then  she  added, 
laughing  like  a  girl :  "  It 's  redick'lus  my  bein'  so  proud 
of  Lisha,  but  ef  a  woman  ain't  a  right  to  think  wal  of 
her  own  husband,  I  should  like  to  know  who  has ! " 

Christie  was  afraid  that  Mrs.  Wilkins  had  seen  her 
disappointment  in  her  face,  and  tried,  with  wifely  zeal, 
to  defend  her  lord  from  even  a  disparaging  thought. 
Wishing  to  atone  for  this  transgression  she  was  about 
to  sing  the  praises  of  the  wooden-faced  EUsha,  but  was 
spared  any  polite  fibs  by  the  appearance  of  a  small  girl 
who  delivered  an  urgent  message  to  the  effect,  that 
"  Mis  Plumly  was  down  sick  and  wanted  Mis  Wilkins 
to  run  over  and  set  a  spell." 

As  the  good  lady  hesitated  with  an  involuntary  glance 
at  her  guest,  Christie  said  quickly : 

"Don't  mind  me ;  I  '11  take  care  of  the  house  for  you 
if  you  want  to  go.  You  may  be  sure  I  won't  run  off 
with  the  children  or  steal  the  spoons." 

"  I  ain't  a  mite  afraid  of  anybody  wantin'  to  steal 
them  little  toads  ;  and  as  for  spoons,  I  ain't  got  a  silver 
one  to  bless  myself  with,"  laughed  Mrs.  Wilkins.  "  I 
guess  I  will  go,  then,  ef  you  don't  mind,  as  it's  only 
acrost  the  street.  Like  's  not  settin'  quiet  will  be  better 
for  you  'n  talkin',  for  I  'm  a  dreadful  hand  to  gab  when 
I  git  started.     Tell  Mis  Plumly  I  'm  a  comin'." 

Then,  as  the  child  ran  off,  the  stout  lady  began  to 


A   CURE  FOR  DESPAIR.  177 

ruramnge  in  her  closet,  saying,  as  she  rattled  and 
slanimetl : 

"  I  '11  jest  take  her  a  drawin'  of  tea  and  a  couple  of 
nut-cakes:  mobby  she'll  relish  'em,  for  I  shouldn't 
wonder  ef  she  hadn't  had  a  mouthful  this  blessed  day. 
She 's  dreadful  slack  at  the  best  of  times,  but  no  one 
can  much  wonder,  seein'  she  's  got  nine  children,  and 
is  jest  up  from  a  rheumatic  fever.  I  'm  sure  I  never 
grudge  a  meal  of  vittles  or  a  hand's  turn  to  such 
as  she  is,  though  she  does  beat  all  for  depend  in'  on 
her  neighbors.  I  'm  a  thousand  times  obleeged.  You 
needn't  werry  about  the  children,  only  don't  let  'em 
git  lost,  or  burnt,  or  pitch  out  a  winder;  and  when 
it 's  done  give  'em  the  paUy-cake  that 's  bakin'  for 
'em." 

With  which  maternal  orders  Mrs.  Wilkins  assumed 
a  sky-blue  bonnet,  and  went  beaming  away  with  sev- 
eral dishes  genteelly  hidden  under  her  purple  shawl. 

Being  irresistibly  attracted  toward  the  children  Chris- 
tie opened  the  door  and  took  a  survey  of  her  responsi- 
bilities. 

Six  lively  infants  were  congregated  in  the  "  settin'- 
roora,"  and  chaos  seemed  to  have  come  again,  for  every 
sort  of  destructive  amusement  was  in  full  operation. 
George  Washington,  the  eldest  blossom,  was  shearing 
a  resigned  kitten ;  Gusty  and  Ann  Eliza  were  concoct- 
ing mud  pies  in  the  ashes;  Adelaide  Victoria  Avas 
studying  the  structure  of  lamp-wicks,  while  Daniel 
Webster  and  Andrew  Jackson  were  dragging  one 
another  in  a  clothes-basket,  to  the  great  detriment  of 
the  old  caqiet  and  still  older  chariot. 

Thinking  that  some  employment  more  suited  to  the 

8*  L 


178  WORK. 

day  might  be  introduced,  Christie  soon  mad^  friends 
with  these  young  persons,  and,  having  rescued  the 
kitten,  banished  the  basket,  lured  the  elder  girls  from 
their  mud-piety,  and  quenched  the  curiosity  of  the 
Pickwickian  Adelaide,  she  proposed  teaching  them 
some  little  hymns. 

The  idea  was  graciously  received,  and  the  class  deco- 
rously seated  in  a  row.  But  before  a  single  verse  was 
given  out.  Gusty,  being  of  a  house-wifely  turn  of  mind, 
suggested  that  the  patty-cake  might  bum.  Instant 
alarm  pervaded  the  party,  and  a  precipitate  rush  was 
made  for  the  cooking-stove,  where  Christie  proved  by 
ocular  demonstration  that  the  cake  showed  no  signs  of 
baking,  much  less  of  burning.  The  family  pronounced 
themselves  satisfied,  after  each  member  had  poked  a 
grimy  little  finger  into  the  doughy  delicacy,  whereon 
one  large  raisin  reposed  in  proud  pre-eminence  over 
the  vulgar  herd  of  caraways. 

Order  being  with  difliculty  restored,  Christie  taught 
her  flock  an  appropriate  hymn,  and-  was  flattering  her- 
self that  their  youthful  minds  were  receiving  a  devo- 
tional bent,  when  they  volunteered  a  song,  and  incited 
thereunto  by  the  irreverent  Wash,  burst  forth  with  a 
gem  from  Mother  Goose,  closing  with  a  smart  skirmish 
of  arms  and  legs  that  set  all  law  and  order  at  defiance. 

Hoping  to  quell  the  insurrection  Christie  invited  the 
breathless  rioters  to  calm  themselves  by  looking  at  the 
pictures  in  the  big  Bible.  But,  unfortunately,  her  expla- 
nations were  so  vivid  that  her  audience  were  fired  with 
a  desire  to  enact  some  of  the  scenes  portrayed,  and  no 
persuasions  could  keep  them  from  placing  Ark  on  the 
spot.      The    clothes-basket    was    elevated   upon    two 


A   CUBE  FOR  DESPAIR. 


179 


chairs,  and  into  it  marched  the  birds  of  the  air  and  the 
beasts  of  the  liekl,  to  judge  by  the  noise,  and  all  set 
sail,  with  Washington  at  the  helm,  Jackson  and  Web- 
ster plying  the  clothes  and  pudding-sticks  for  oars,  while 
the  young  ladies  rescued  their  dolls  from  the  flood,  and 
waved  their  hands  to  imaginary  friends  who  were  not 
unmindful  of  the  courtesies  of  life  even  in  the  act  of 
dvowniua:. 


Mrs.  Wilkins'  Six  Livfly  Infants. 


Finding  her  authority  defied  Christie  left  the  rebels 
to  their  own  devices,  and  sitting  in  a  corner,  began  to 


180  WORK. 

think  about  her  own  affairs.  But  before  she  had  time 
to  get  anxious  or  perplexed  the  children  diverted  her 
mind,  as  if  the  little  flibberty-gibbets  knew  that  their 
pranks  and  perils  were  far  wholesomer  for  her  just 
then  than  brooding. 

The  much-enduring  kitten  being  sent  forth  as  a  dove 
upon  the  waters  failed,  to  return  with  the  olive-branch ; 
of  which  peaceful  emblem  there  was  soon  great  need, 
for  mutiny  broke  out,  and  spread  with  disastrous  ra- 
pidity. 

Ann  Eliza  slapped  Gusty  because  she  had  the  biggest 
bandbox  ;  Andrew  threatened  to  "  chuck  "  Daniel  over- 
board if  he  continued  to  trample  on  the  fraternal  toes, 
and  in  the  midst  of  the  fray,  by  some  unguarded 
motion,  Washington  capsized  the  ship  and  precipitated 
the  patriarchal  family  into  the  bosom  of  the  deep. 

Christie  flew  to  the  rescue,  and,  hydropathically 
treated,  the  anguish  of  bumps  and  bruises  was  soon 
assuaged.  Then  aj^peared  the  appropriate  nioment  for 
a  story,  and  gathering  the  dilapidated  j^arty  about  her 
she  soon  enraptured  them  by  a  recital  of  the  immortal 
history  of  "  Frank  and  the  little  dog  Trusty."  Charmed 
with  her  success  she  was  about  to  tell  another  moral 
tale,  but  no  sooner  had  she  announced  the  name,  "  The 
Three  Cakes,"  when,  like  an  electric  flash  a  sudden 
recollection  seized  the  young  Wilkinses,  and  with  one 
voice  they  demanded  their  lawful  prize,  sure  that  now 
it  must  be  done. 

Christie  had  forgotten  all  about  it,  and  was  harassed 
with  secret  misgivings  as  she  headed  the  investigating 
committee.  With  skipping  of  feet  and  clapping  of 
hands  the  eager  tribe  surrounded  the  stove,  and  with 


A   CURE  FOR  DESPAIR.  181 

fear  and  trembling  Christie  drew  forth  a  melancholy 
cinder,  where,  hke  Casabianca,  the  lofty  raisin  still 
remained,  blackened,  but  undaunted,  at  its  post. 

Then  were  six  little  vials  of  wrath  poured  out  upon 
her  devoted  head,  and  sounds  of  lamentation  filled  the 
air,  for  the  irate  Wilkinses  refused  to  be  comforted  till 
the  rash  vow  to  present  each  member  of  the  outraged 
family  with  a  private  cake  produced  a  lull,  during 
which  the  younger  ones  were  decoyed  into  the  back 
yard,  and  the  three  elders  solaced  themselves  with 
mischief 

Mounted  on  mettlesome  broomsticks  Andrew  and 
Daniel  were  riding  merrily  away  to  the  Banbury  Cross, 
of  blessed  memory,  and  little  Vic  was  erecting  a  pagoda 
of  oyster-shells,  under  Christie's  superintendence,  when 
a  shrill  scream  from  within  sent  horsemen  and  archi- 
tects flying  to  the  rescue. 

Gusty's  pinafore  was  in  a  blaze;  Ann  Eliza  was 
dancing  frantically  about  her  sister  as  if  bent  on  making 
a  suttee  of  herself,  while  George  ^Washington  hung  out 
of  window,  roaring,  "Fire!"  "water!"  "engine!" 
"  pa !  "  with  a  presence  of  mind  worthy  of  his  sex. 

A  speedy  application  of  the  hearth-rug  quenched  the 
conflagration,  and  when  a  minute  burn  had  been  envel- 
oped in  cotton-wool,  like  a  gem,  a  coroner  sat  upon  the 
pinafore  and  investigated  the  case. 

It  appeared  that  the  ladies  were  "  only  playing  paper 
dolls,"  when  Wash,  sighing  for  the  enlightenment  of  his 
race,  proposed  to  make  a  bonfire,  and  did  so  with  an 
old  book;  but  Gusty,  with  a  firm  belief  in  future  pun- 
ishment, tried  to  save  it,  and  fell  a  victim  to  her  prin- 
ciples, as  the  virtuous  are  very  apt  to  do. 


182  WOBK. 

The  book  was  brought  into  court,  and  proved  to  be 
an  ancient  volume  of  ballads,  cut,  torn,  and  half  con- 
sumed. Several  peculiarly  developed  paper  dolls, 
branded  here  and  there  with  large  letters,  like  galley- 
slaves,  wei-e  then  produced  by  the  accused,  and  the 
judge  could  with  difficulty  preserve  her  gravity  when 
she  found  "John  Gilpin"  converted  into  a  painted 
petticoat,  "  Tlie  Bay  of  Biscay,  O,"  situated  in  the 
crown  of  a  hat,  and  "  Chevy  Chase  "  issuing  from  the 
mouth  of  a  triangular  gentleman,  who,  like  Dickens's 
cherub,  probably  sung  it  by  ear,  having  no  lungs  to 
speak  of 

It  was  further  apparent  from  the  agricultural  appear- 
ance of  the  room  that  beans  had  been  sowed  broadcast 
by  means  of  the  ajjple-corer,  which  Wash  had  con- 
verted into  a  pop-gun  with  a  mechanical  ingenuity 
worthy  of  more  general  appreciation.  He  felt  this 
deeply,  and  when  Christie  reproved  him  for  leading  his 
sisters  astray,  he  resented  the  liberty  she  took,  and 
retired  in  high  dudgeon  to  the  cellar,  where  he  appeared 
to  set  up  a  menagerie,  —  for  bears,  lions,  and  unknown 
animals,  endowed  with  great  vocal  powers,  were  heard 
to  solicit  patronage  from  below. 

Somewhat  exhausted  by  her  labors,  Christie  rested, 
after  clearing  up  the  room,  while  the  children  found  a 
solace  for  all  afflictions  in  the  consumption  of  relays  of 
bread  and  molasses,  which  infantile  restorative  occurred 
like  an  inspiration  to  the  mind  of  their  guardian. 

Peace  reigned  for  fifteen  minutes  ;  then  came  a  loud 
crash  from  the  cellar,  followed  by  a  violent  splashing, 
and  wild  cries  of,  "  Oh,  oh,  oh,  I  've  fell  into  the  pork 
barrel !  I  'm  drownin',  1  'm  drownin' ! " 


A   CURE  FOR  DESPAIR.  183 

Down  rushed  Christie,  and  the  sticky  innocents  ran 
screaming  after,  to  behold  their  pickled  brother  fished 
up  fi'om  the  briny  deep.  A  spectacle  well  calculated 
to  impress  upon  their  infant  minds  the  awful  conse- 
quences of  straying  from  the  paths  of  virtue. 

At  this  crisis  Mrs.  Wilkins  providentially  appeared, 
breathless,  but  brisk  and  beaming,  and  in  no  wise  dis- 
mayed by  the  plight  of  her  luckless  son,  for  a  ten  years' 
acquaintance  with  Wash's  dauntless  nature  had  inured 
his  mother  to  "  didoes  "  that  would  have  appalled  most 
women. 

"  Go  right  up  chamber,  and  change  every  rag  on  you, 
and  don't  come  down  agin  till  I  rap  on  the  ceilin' ;  you 
dreadful  boy,  disgracin'  your  family  by  sech  actions. 
I  'm  sorry  I  was  kep'  so  long,  but  Mis  Plumly  got  tellin' 
her  werryments,  and  'peared  to  take  so  much  comfort 
in  it  I  couldn't  bear  to  stop  her.  Then  I  jest  run 
•round  to  your  place  and  told  that  woman  that  you  was 
safe  and  well,  along 'r  friends,  and  would  call  in  to- 
morrer  to  get  your  things.  She  'd  ben  so  scart  by 
your  not  comin'  home  that  she  was  as  mild  as  milk,  so 
you  won't  have  no  trouble  with  her,  I  expect." 

"  Thank  you  very  much !  How  kind  you  are,  and 
how  tired  you  must  be  !  Sit  down  and  let  me  take 
your  things,"  cried  Christie,  more  relieved  than  she 
could  express. 

"Lor',  no,  I'm  fond  of  walkin',  but  bein'  ruther  hefty 
it  takes  my  breath  away  some  to  hurry.  I  'm  afraid 
these  children  have  tuckered  you  out  though.  They 
are  proper  good  gen'lly,  but  when  they  do  take  to 
trainen  they  're  a  sight  of  care,"  said  Mrs.  Wilkins,  as 
she  surveyed  her  imposing  bonnet  with  calm  satisfac- 
tion. 


184  WOEK. 

"  I  've  enjoyed  it  very  much,  and  it's  done  me  good, 
for  I  haven't  laughed  so  much  for  six  months  as  I  have 
this  afternoon,"  answercd  Christie,  and  it  was  quite 
true,  for  she  had  been  too  busy  to  think  of  herself  or 
her  woes. 

"  Wal,  I  thought  likely  it  would  chirk  you  up  some, 
or  I  shouldn't  have  went,"  and  Mrs.  AVilkins  put  away 
a  contented  smile  with  her  cherished  bonnet,  for  Chris- 
tie's face  had  grown  so  much  brighter  since  she  saw  it 
last,  that  the  good  woman  felt  sure  her  treatment  was 
the  right  one. 

At  supper  Lisha  reappeared,  and  while  his  wife  and 
children  talked  incessantly,  he  ate  four  slices  of  bread 
and  butter,  three  pieces  of  pie,  five  dough-nuts,  and 
drank  a  small  ocean  of  tea  out  of  his  saucer.  Then, 
evidently  feeling  that  he  had  done  his  duty  like  a  man, 
he  gave  Christie  another  nod,  and  disappeared  again 
without  a  word. 

When  she  had  done  up  her  dishes  Mrs.  Wilkins 
brought  out  a  few  books  and  papers,  and  said  to  Chris- 
tie, who  sat  apart  by  the  window,  with  the  old  shadow 
creeping  over  her  face  : 

"Now  don't  feel  lonesome,  my  dear,  but  jest  lop 
right  down  on  the  soffy  and  have  a  sociable  kind  of  a 
time.  Lisha 's  gone  down  street  for  the  evenin'.  I  '11 
keep  the  children  as  quiet  as  one  woman  can,  and  you 
may  read  or  rest,  or  talk,  jest  as  you're  a  mind." 

"Thank  you;  I'll  sit  here  and  rock  little  Vie  to 
sleep  for  you.  I  don't  care  to  read,  but  I  'd  like  to 
have  you  talk  to  me,  for  it  seems  as  if  I  'd  known  you 
a  long  time  and  it  does  me  good,"  said  Christie,  as  she 
settled  herself  and  baby  on  the  old  settee  which  had 


A   CUBE  FOR  DESPAIR.  185 

served  as  a  cradle  for  six  young  Wilkinses,  and  now 
received  the  honorable  name  of  sofa  in  its  old  age. 

Mrs.  Wilkins  looked  gratified,  as  she  settled  her 
brood  round  the  table  with  a  pile  of  pictorial  papers  to 
amuse  them.  Then  having  laid  herself  out  to  be 
agreeable,  she  sat  thoughtfully  rubbing  the  bridge  of 
her  nose,  at  a  loss  how  to  begin.  Presently  Christie 
helped  her  by  an  involuntary  sigh. 

"  What 's  the  matter,  dear  ?  Is  there  any  thing  I  can 
do  to  make  you  comfortable?"  asked  the  kind  soul, 
alert  at  once,  and  ready  to  offer  sympathy. 

"  I  'm  very  cosy,  thank  you,  and  I  don't  know  why  I 
sighed.  It 's  a  way  I  've  got  into  when  I  think  of  my 
worries,"  explained  Christie,  in  haste. 

"  Wal,  dear,  I  wouldn't  ef  I  was  you.  Don't  keep 
turnin'  your  troubles  over.  Git  atop  of  'em  somehow, 
and  stay  there  ef  you  can,"  said  Mrs.  Wilkins,  very 
earnestly. 

"  But  that 's  just  what  I  can't  do.  I  've  lost  all  my 
spirits  and  courage,  and  got  into  a  dismal  state  of  mind. 
You  seem  to  be  very  cheerful,  and  yet  you  must  have 
a  good  deal  to  try  you  sometimes.  I  wish  you'd  tell 
me  how  you  do  it ; "  and  Christie  looked  wistfully  into 
that  other  face,  so  plain,  yet  so  placid,  wondering  to 
see  how  little  poverty,  hard  work,  and  many  cares  had 
soured  or  saddened  it. 

"Really  I  don't  know,  unless  it's  jest  doin'  whatever 
comes  along,  and  doin'  of  it  hearty,  sure  that  things 
is  all  right,  though  very  often  I  don't  see  it  at  fust." 

"  Do  you  see  it  at  last  ?  " 

"  Gen'lly  I  do ;  and  if  I  don't  I  take  it  on  trust,  same 
as  children  do  what  older  folks  tell  'em  ;  and  byme-by 


186  WORK. 

when  I  'm  grown  up  in  spiritual  things  I  '11  understan' 
as  the  dears  do,  when  they  git  to  be  men  and  women." 

That  suited  Christie,  and  she  thought  hopefully 
within  herself: 

"  This  woman  has  got  the  sort  of  religion  I  want,  if 
it  makes  her  what  she  is.  Some  day  I  '11  get  her  to  tell 
me  where  she  found  it."     Then  aloud  she  said  : 

"  But  it 's  so  hard  to  be  patient  and  contented  when 
nothing  happens  as  you  want  it  to,  and  you  don't  get 
your  share  of  happiness,  no  matter  how  much  you  try 
to  deserve  it." 

"  It  ain't  easy  to  bear,  I  know,  but  having  tried 
my  own  way  and  made  a  dreadful  mess  on  't,  I  con- 
cluded that  the  Lord  knows  what's  best  for  us,  and 
things  go  better  when  he  manages  than  when  we  go 
scratchin'  round  and  can't  wait." 

"  Tried  your  own  way  ?  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked 
Christie,  curiously ;  for  she  liked  to  hear  her  hostess 
talk,  and  found  something  besides  amusement  in  the 
conversation,  which  seemed  to  possess  a  fresh  country 
flavor  as  well  as  country  j^hrases. 

Mrs.  Wilkins  smiled  all  over  her  plump  face,  as  if 
she  liked  to  tell  her  experience,  and  having  hunched 
sleepy  little  Andy  more  comfortably  into  her  lap,  and 
given  a  preparatory  hem  or  two,  she  began  with  great 
good-will. 

"  It  happened  a  number  a  years  ago  and  ain't  much 
of  a  story  any  way.  But  you  're  welcome  to  it,  as  some 
of  it  is  rather  humorsome,  the  laugh  may  do  you  good 
ef  the  story  don't.  We  was  livin'  down  to  the  east'ard 
at  the  time.  It  was  a  real  pretty  place;  the  house 
stood  under  a  couple  of  maples  and  a  gret  brook  come 


A  CURE  FOR  DESPAIR.  187 

foainin'  clown  tlie  rayvine  and  away  through  the  mecl- 
deis  to  the  river.  Dear  sakes,  seems  as  ef  I  see  it  now, 
jest  as  I  used  to  settin'  on  the  doorsteps  with  the  lay- 
locks  all  in  blow,  the  squirrels  jabberin'  on  the  wall, 
and  the  saw-mill  screekiu'  way  off  by  the  dam." 

Pausing  a  moment,  Mrs.  Wilkins  looked  musingly  at 
the  steam  of  the  tea-kettle,  as  if  through  its  silvery 
haze  she  saw  her  early  home  again.  Wash  promptly 
roused  her  from  this  reverie  by  tumbling  off  the  boiler 
with  a  crash.  His  mother  picked  him  up  and  placidly 
went  on,  falling  more  and  more  into  the  country  dia- 
lect which  city  life  had  not  yet  polished. 

"  I  oughter  hev  been  the  contentedest  woman  alive, 
but  I  warn't,  for  you  see  I  'd  worked  at  millineryin' 
before  I  was  married,  and  had  an  easy  time  on't. 
Afterwards  the  children  come  along  pretty  fast,  there 
was  sights  of  work  to  do,  and  no  time  for  pleasurin', 
so  I  got  wore  out,  and  used  to  hanker  after  old  times 
in  a  dreadful  wicked  way. 

"  Finally  I  got  acquainted  with  a  Mis  Bascum,  and 
she  done  me  a  sight  of  harm.  You  see,  havin'  few  pies 
of  her  own  to  bake,  she  was  fond  of  puttin'  her  fingers 
into  her  neighborses,  but  she  done  it  so  neat  that  no 
one  mistrusted  she  was  takin'  all  the  sauce  and  leavin' 
all  the  crust  to  them,  as  you  may  say.  Wal,  I  told  her 
my  werryments  and  she  sympathized  real  hearty,  and 
said  I  didn't  ought  to  stan'  it,  but  have  things  to  suit 
me,  and  enjoy  myself,  as  other  folks  did.  So  when  she 
put  it  into  my  head  I  thought  it  amazin'  good  advice, 
and  jest  went  and  done  as  she  told  me. 

"  Lisha  was  the  kindest  man  you  ever  see,  so  when  I 
up  and  said  I  warn't  goin'  to  drudge  round  no  more, 


188  WORK. 

but  must  hov  a  girl,  he  got  one,  and  goodness  knows 
what  a  trial  she  was.  Atler  she  came  I  got  dreadful 
slack,  and  left  the  house  and  the  children  to  Hen'retta, 
and  went  pleasurin'  frequent  all  in  my  best.  I  always 
was  a  dressy  woman  in  them  days,  and  Lisha  give  me 
his  earnin's  real  lavish,  bless  his  heart !  and  I  went  and 
spent  'em  on  my  sinful  gowns  and  bunnets." 

Here  Mrs.  Wilkins  stopped  to  give  a  remorseful  groan 
and  stroke  her  faded  dress,  as  if  she  found  great  com- 
fort in  its  dinginess. 

"  It  ain't  no  use  tellin'  all  I  done,  but  I  had  full  swing, 
and  at  fust  I  thought  luck  w^as  in  my  dish  sure.  But  it 
w^arn't,  seein'  I  didn't  deserve  it,  and  I  had  to  take  my 
mess  of  trouble,  which  w^as  needful  and  nourishin,'  ef 
I'd  had  the  grace  to  see  it  so. 

"Lisha  got  into  debt,  and  no  wonder,  with  me  a 
wastin'  of  his  substance ;  Hen'retta  went  off  suddin', 
with  whatever  she  could  lay  her  hands  on,  and  every- 
thing was  at  sixes  and  sevens.  Lisha's  patience  give 
out  at  last,  for  I  was  dreadful  fractious,  knowin'  it  was 
all  my  fault.  The  children  seemed  to  git  out  of  sorts, 
too,  and  acted  like  time  in  the  primer,  with  croup  and 
pins,  and  whoopin'-cough  and  temper.  I  declare  I 
used  to  think  the  pots  and  kettles  biled  over  to  spite 
each  other  and  me  too  in  them  days. 

"All  this  was  nuts  to  Mis  Bascura,  and  she  kep' 
advisin'  and  encouragin'  of  me,  and  I  didn  't  see  through 
her  a  mite,  or  guess  that  settin'  folks  by  the  ears  was 
as  relishin'  to  her  as  bitters  is  to  some.  Merciful,  suz  ! 
w^hat  a  piece  a  work  we  did  make  betwixt  us !  I 
scolded  and  moped  'cause  I  couldn't  have  my  way; 
Lisha  swore   and  threatened  to  take  to  drinkin'  ef  I 


A   CURE  FOE  DESPAIR.  189 

didn't  make  liome  more  comfortable ;  the  children  run 
wild,  and  the  house  was  gittin'  too  hot  to  hold  us, 
when  we  was  brought  up  with  a  round  turn,  and  I  see 
the  redicklousness  of  my  doin's  in  time. 

"  One  day  Lisha  come  home  tired  and  cross,  for  bills 
was  pressin',  work  slack,  and  folks  talkin'  about  us  as 
ef  they  'd  nothin'  else  to  do.  I  was  dishin'  up  dinner, 
feelin'  as  nervous  as  a  witch,  for  a  whole  batch  of 
bread  had  burnt  to  a  cinder  Avhile  I  was  trimmin'  a  new 
bunnet,  Wash  had  scart  me  most  to  death  swallerin'  a 
cent,  and  the  steak  had  been  on  the  floor  more'n  once, 
owin'  to  my  havin'  babies,  dogs,  cats,  or  hens  under 
my  feet  the  whole  blessed  time. 

"  Lisha  looked  as  black  as  thunder,  throwed  his  hat 
into  a  corner,  and  came  along  to  the  sink  w^here  I  w^as 
skinnin'  pertaters.  As  he  washed  his  hands,  I  asked 
what  the  matter  was;  but  he  only  muttered  and 
slopped,  and  I  couldn't  git  nothin'  out  of  him,  for  he 
ain't  talkative  at  the  best  of  times  as  you  see,  and  when 
he 's  werried  corkscrews  wouldn't  draw  a  word  from 
him. 

"  Bein'  riled  myself  didn't  mend  matters,  and  so  we 
fell  to  hectorin'  one  another  right  smart.  He  said 
somethin'  that  dreened  my  last  drop  of  patience ;  I 
give  a  sharp  answer,  and  fust  thing  I  knew  he  up  with 
his  hand  and  slapped  me.  It  warn't  a  hard  blow  by 
no  means,  only  a  kind  of  a  wet  spat  side  of  the  head; 
but  I  thought  I  should  have  flew,  and  was  as  mad  as  ef 
I  'd  been  knocked  down.  You  never  see  a  man  look  so 
'shamed  as  Lisha  did,  and  ef  I  'd  been  wise  I  should 
have  made  up  the  quarrel  then.  But  I  was  a  fool.  I 
jest  flung  fork,  dish,  pertaters  and  all  into  the  pot,  and 
says,  as  ferce  as  you  please : 


190  WORE. 

" '  'Lisha  Wilkins,  when  you  can  treat  me  decent  you 
may  come  and  fetch  me  back ;  you  won't  see  me  till 
then,  and  so  I  tell  you.' 

"  Then  1  made  a  bee-line  for  Mis  Bascum's ;  told  her 
the  whole  story,  had  a  good  cry,  and  was  all  ready  to 
go  home  in   half  an  hour,  but  Lisha  didn't  come. 

"  Wal,  that  night  passed,  and  what  a  long  one  it  was 
to  be  sure !  and  me  without  a  wink  of  sleep,  thinkin'  of 
Wash  and  the  cent,  my  emptins  and  the  baby.  Next 
day  come,  but  no  Lisha,  no  message,  no  nuthin',  and  I 
began  to  think  I  'd  got  my  match  though  I  had  a  sight 
of  grit  in  them  days.  I  sewed,  and  Mis  Bascum  she 
clacked ;  but  I  didn't  say  much,  and  jest  worked  like 
sixty  to  pay  for  my  keep,  for  I  warn't  goin'  to  be 
beholden  to  her  for  nothin'. 

"  The  day  dragged  on  terrible  slow,  and  at  last  I 
begged  her  to  go  and  git  me  a  clean  dress,  for  I  'd  come 
off  jest  as  I  was,  and  folks  kep'  droppin'  in,  for  the 
story  was  all  round,  thanks  to  Mis  Bascum's  long 
tongue. 

"  Wal,  she  went,  and  ef  you  '11  believe  me  Lisha 
wouldn't  let  her  in  !  He  handed  my  best  things  out  a 
winder  and  told  her  to  tell  me  they  were  gittin'  along 
fust  rate  with  Florindy  Walch  to  do  the  work.  He 
hoped  I  'd  have  a  good  time,  and  not  expect  him  for  a 
consider'ble  spell,  for  he  liked  a  quiet  house,  and  now 
he  'd  got  it. 

"When  I  heard  that,  I  knew  he  must  be  provoked 
the  wust  kind,  for  he  ain't  a  hash  man  by  nater.  I 
could  have  crep'  in  at  the  winder  ef  he  wouldn't  open 
the  door,  I  was  so  took  down  by  that  message.  But 
Mis  Bascum  wouldn't  hear  of  it,  and  kep'  stinin'  of 


A   CUBE  FOB  DESPAIB.  191 

me  up  till  I  was  ashamed  to  eat  'umble  pie  fust ;  so  I 
waited  to  see  how  soon  he  'd  come  round.  But  he  liad 
the  best  on't  you  see,  for  he  'd  got  the  babies  and  lost  a 
cross  wife,  while  I  'd  lost  every  thing  but  Mis  Bascum, 
who  gi'ew  hatefuler  to  me  every  hour,  for  I  begun  to 
mistrust  she  was  a  mischief-maker,  —  widders  most 
always  is,  —  seein'  how  she  pampered  up  my  pride  and 
'peared  to  like  the  quarrel. 

"  I  thought  I  should  have  died  more'n  once,  for  sure 
as  you  live  it  went  on  three  mortal  days,  and  of  all 
miser'ble  creeters  I  was  the  miser'blest.  Then  I  see 
how  wicked  and  ungrateful  I  'd  been  ;  how  I  'd  shirked 
my  bounden  duty  and  scorned  my  best  blessins. 
There  warn't  a  hard  job  that  ever  I  'd  hated  but  what 
grew  easy  when  I  remembered  who  it  was  done  for ; 
there  warn't  a  trouble  or  a  care  that  I  wouldn't  have 
welcomed  hearty,  nor  one  hour  of  them  dear  fractious 
babies  that  didn't  seem  precious  when  I  'd  gone  and 
left  'em.  I  'd  s^ot  time  to  rest  enous^h  now,  and  miijht  <ro 
pleasuring  all  day  long ;  but  I  couldn't  do  it,  and  would 
have  given  a  dozin  bunnets  trimmed  to  kill  ef  I  could 
only  have  been  back  moilin'  in  my  old  kitchen  with 
the  children  hangin'  round  me  and  Lisha  a  comin'  in 
cheerful  from  his  work  as  he  used  to  'fore  I  spoilt  his 
home  for  him.  How  sing'lar  it  is  folks  never  do  know 
when  they  are  wal  off!  " 

"  I  know  it  now,"  said  Christie,  rocking  lazily  to  and 
fro,  with  a  flice  almost  as  tranquil  as  little  Vic's,  lying 
half  asleep  in  her  lap. 

"  Glad  to  hear  it,  my  dear.  As  I  was  goin'  on  to  say, 
when  Saturday  come,  a  tremenjus  storm  set  in,  and  it 
rained  guns  all  day.     I  never  shall  forgit  it,  for  I  was 


192  WORK. 

hankerin'  after  baby,  and  dreadful  wenied  about  the 
others,  all  bein'  croupy,  and  Florindy  with  no  more 
idee  of  nussin'  than  a  baa  lamb.  The  rain  come  down 
like  a  reg'lar  deluge,  but  I  didn't  seem  to  have  no  ark 
to  run  to.  As  night  come  on  things  got  wuss  and  wuss, 
for  the  wind  blowed  the  roof  off  Mis  Bascum's  barn 
and  stove  in  the  butt'ry  window;  the  brook  riz  and 
went  ragin'  every  which  way,  and  you  never  did  see 
such  a  piece  of  work. 

"  My  heart  was  most  broke  by  that  time,  and  I  knew 
I  should  give  in  'fore  Monday.  But  I  set  and  sewed  and 
listened  to  the  tinkle  tankle  of  the  drops  in  the  pans  set 
round  to  ketch  'em,  for  the  house  leaked  like  a  sieve. 
Mis  Bascum  was  down  suller  putterin'  about,  for  every 
kag  and  sarce  jar  was  afloat.  Moses,  her  brother,  was 
lookin'  after  his  stock  and  tryin'  to  stop  the  damage. 
All  of  a  sudden  he  bust  in  lookin'  kinder  wild,  and 
settin'  down  the  lantern,  he  sez,  sez  he :  *  You're 
rutheru  an  unfortinate  woman  to-night.  Mis  Wilkins.' 
'  How  so  ? '  sez  I,  as  ef  nuthin'  was  the  matter  already. 

" '  Why,'  sez  he,  '  the  spilins  have  give  way  up  in  the 
rayvine,  and  the  brook 's  come  down  like  a  river,  upsot 
your  lean-to,  washed  the  mellion  patch  slap  into  the 
road,  and  while  your  husband  was  tryin'  to  git  the  pig 
out  of  the  pen,  the  water  took  a  turn  and  swep  him 
away.' 

" '  Drownded  ? '  sez  I,  with  only  breath  enough  for  that 
one  word.  'Shouldn't  wonder,'  sez  Moses,  'nothin' 
ever  did  come  up  alive  after  goin'  over  them  falls.' 

"  It  come  over  me  like  a  streak  of  lightenin' ;  every 
thin'  kinder  slewed  round,  and  I  dropped  in  the  first 
faint  I  ever  had  in  my  life.     Next  I  knew  Lisha  was 


A   CUBE  FOR   DESPAIR.  193 

hoklin'  of  me  and  cryiii'  fit  to  kill  himself.  I  thought 
I  was  dreainiii',  and  only  had  wits  enough  to  give  a  sort 
of  periniscuous  grab  at  him  and  call  out: 

" '  Oh,  Lisha  !  ain't  you  drownded  ? '  He  give  a  gret 
start  at  that,  swallered  down  his  sobbin',  and  sez  as 
lovin'  as  ever  a  man  did  in  this  world: 

" '  Bless  your  dear  heart,  Cynthy,  it  warn't  me  it  was 
the  i)ig  ; '  and  then  fell  to  kissin'  of  me,  till  betwixt 
laughin'  and  cryin'  I  was  most  choked.  Deary  me,  it 
all  comes  back  so  livin'  real  it  kinder  takes  my  breath 
away." 

And  W'Cll  it  might,  for  the  good  soul  entered  so 
heartily  into  her  story  that  she  unconsciously  embel- 
lished it  with  dramatic  illustrations.  At  the  slapping 
episode  she  flung  an  invisible  "  fork,  dish,  and  perta- 
ters "  into  an  imaginary  kettle,  and  glared ;  when  the 
catastrophe  arrived,  she  fell  back  upon  her  chair  to  ex- 
press fainting;  gave  Christie's  arm  the  "permiscuous 
grab  "  at  the  proper  moment,  and  uttered  the  repentant 
Lisha's  explanation  Avith  an  incoherent  pathos  that 
forbid  a  laugh  at  the  sudden  introduction  of  the  2>or- 
cine  martyr. 

"  What  did  you  do  then  ?  "  asked  Christie  in  a  most 
flattering  state  of  interest. 

"Oh,  law!  I  went  right  home  and  hugged  them 
children  for  a  couple  of  hours  stiddy,"  answered  Mrs. 
Wilkins,  as  if  but  one  conclusion  was  possible. 

"Did  all  your  troubles  go  down  with  the  pig?" 
asked  Christie,  presently. 

"Massy,  no,  we're  all  poor,  feeble  worms,  and  the 
best  meanin'  of  us  fails  too  often,"  sighed  Mrs.  Wilkins, 
as  she  tenderly  adjusted  the  sleepy  head  of  the  young 
9  I 


194  WORK. 

worm  in  her  lap.  "  After  that  scrape  I  done  my  best ; 
Lisha  was  as  meek  as  a  whole  flock  of  sheep,  and  we 
give  Mis  Bascum  a  wide  berth.  Things  went  lovely  for 
ever  so  long,  and  though,  after  a  spell,  we  had  our  ups 
and  downs,  as  is  but  natural  to  human  creeters,  we 
never  come  to  such  a  pass  agin.  Both  on  us  tried 
real  hard ;  whenever  I  felt  my  temper  risin'  or  discon- 
tent comin'  on  I  remembered  them  days  and  kep'  a 
taut  rein ;  and  as  for  Lisha  he  never  said  a  raspin' 
word,  or  got  sulky,  but  what  he  'd  bust  out  laughin' 
after  it  and  say :  '  Bless  you,  Cynthy,  it  wara't  me,  it 
was  the  pig.' " 

Mrs.  Wilkins'  hearty  laugh  fired  a  long  train  of  lesser 
ones,  for  the  children  recognized  a  household  word. 
Christie  enjoyed  the  joke,  and  even  the  tea-kettle 
boiled  over  as  if  carried  away  by  the  fun. 

"Tell  some  more,  please,"  said  Clmstie,  when  the 
merriment  subsided,  for  she  felt  her  spirits  rising. 

"  There 's  nothin'  more  to  tell,  except  one  thing  that 
prevented  my  ever  forgittin'  the  lesson  I  got  then.  My 
little  Almiry  took  cold  that  week  and  pined  away 
rapid.  She  'd  always  been  so  ailin'  I  never  expected  to 
raise  her,  and  more  'n  once  in  them  sinful  tempers  of 
mine  I  'd  thought  it  would  be  a  mercy  ef  she  was  took 
out  of  her  pain.  But  when  I  laid  away  that  patient, 
sufferin'  little  creeter  I  found  she  was  the  dearest  of 
'em  all.  I  most  broke  my  heart  to  hev  her  back,  and 
never,  never  forgive  myself  for  leavin'  her  that  time." 

With  trembUng  lips  and  full  eyes  Mrs.  Wilkins 
stopped  to  wipe  her  features  generally  on  Andrew 
Jackson's  pinafore,  and  heave  a  remorseful  sigh. 

"  And  this  is  how  you  came  to  be  the  cheerful,  con- 


A   CURE  FOR  DESPAIR.  195 

tcuted   woman   you   are  ? "    said   Christie,   hoping  to 
divert  the  mother's  mind  from  that  too  tender  memory. 

"  Yes,"  slie  answered,  thoughtfully,  "  I  told  you  Lisha 
was  a  smart  man ;  he  give  me  a  good  lesson,  and  it  set 
me  to  thinkin'  serious.  'Pears  to  me  trouble  is  a  kind 
of  mellerin'  process,  and  ef  you  take  it  kindly  it  doos 
you  good,  and  you  learn  to  be  glad  of  it.  I  'm  sure  Lisha 
and  me  is  twice  as  fond  of  one  another,  twice  as 
willin'  to  work,  and  twice  as  patient  with  our  trials 
sense  dear  little  Almiry  died,  and  times  was  hard. 
I  ain't  what  I  ought  to  be,  not  by  a  long  chalk,  but  I 
try  to  live  up  to  my  light,  do  ray  duty  cheerful,  love 
my  neighbors,  and  fetch  up  my  family  in  the  fear  of 
God.  Ef  I  do  this  the  best  way  I  know  how,  I  'm  sure 
I  '11  get  my  rest  some  day,  and  the  good  Lord  won't 
forgit  Cynthy  Wilkins.  He  ain't  so  fur,  for  I  keep  my 
health  wondei-fle,  Lisha  is  kind  and  stiddy,  the  children 
flourishin',  and  I  'm  a  happy  woman  though  I  be  a  humly 
one." 

.  There  she  was  mistaken,  for  as  her  eye  roved  round 
the  narrow  room  from  the  old  hat  on  the  wall  to  the 
curly  heads  bobbing  here  and  there,  contentment, 
piety,  and  raother-love  made  her  plain  face  beautiful. 

"  That  story  has  done  me  ever  so  much  good,  and  I 
shall  not  forget  it.  Now,  good-night,  for  I  must  be  up 
early  to-morrow,  and  I  don't  want  to  drive  Mr.  \Yilkins 
away  entirely,"  said  Christie,  after  she  had  helped  put 
the  little  folk  to  bed,  during  which  process  she  had 
heard  her  host  creaking  about  the  kitchen  as  if  afraid 
to  enter  the  sitting-room. 

She  laughed  as  she  spoke,  and  ran  up  stairs,  wonder- 
ing if  she  could  be  the  same  forlorn  creature  who  had 
crept  so  wearily  up  only  the  night  before. 


196  .       WORK. 

It  was  a  very  humble  little  sermon  that  Mrs.  Wilkins 
had  preached  to  her,  but  she  took  it  to  heart  and 
profited  by  it ;  for  she  was  a  pupil  in  the  great  charity 
school  where  the  best  teachers  are  often  unknown,  un- 
honored  here,  but  who  surely  will  receive  connnendation 
and  reward  from  the  head  master  when  their  long  vaca- 
tion comes. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


MRS.    WILKINS  S    MINISTER. 


Si' 


Mr.  Power. 


NEXT  day  Christie  braved  the  lion  in  his  den, 
otherwise  the  flinty  Flint,  in  her  second-class 
boarding-house,  and  found  that  alarm  and  remorse  had 
produced  a  softening  effect  upon  her.  She  was  unfeign- 
edly  glad  to  see  her  lost  lodger  safe,  and  finding  tliat 
tlie  new  friends  were  likely  to  put  her  in  the  w\ay  of 
paying  her  debts,  this  much  harassed  matron  permitted 
her  to  pack  up  her  possessions,  leaving  one  trunk  as  a 
sort  of  hostage.     Then,  with  promises  to  redeem  it  as 


198  WORK. 

soon  as  possible,  Christie  said  good-bye  to  the  little 
room  where  she  had  hoped  and  suffered,  lived  and 
labored  so  long,  and  went  joyfully  back  to  the  humble 
home  she  had  found  with  the  good  laundress. 

All  the  following  week  Christie  "  chored  round,"  as 
Mrs.  Wilkins  called  the  miscellaneous  light  work  she 
let  her  do.  Much  washing,  combing,  and  clean  pina- 
foring  of  children  fell  to  her  share,  and  she  enjoyed  it 
amazingly ;  then,  when  the  elder  ones  were  packed  off 
to  school  she  lent  a  hand  to  any  of  the  numberless 
tasks  housewives  find  to  do  from  raornino:  till  niirht. 
In  the  afternoon,  when  other  work  was  done,  and  little 
Vic  asleep  or  happy  with  her  playthings,  Christie 
clapped  laces,  sprinkled  muslins,  and  picked  out  edg- 
ings at  the  great  table  where  Mrs.  Wilkins  stood 
ironing,  fluting,  and  crimping  till  the  kitchen  bristled 
all  over  with  immaculate  frills  and  flounces. 

It  was  pretty  delicate  work,  and  Christie  liked  it,  for 
Mrs.  Wilkins  was  an  adept  at  her  trade  and  took  as 
much  pride  and  pleasure  in  it  as  any  French  hlaiichis- 
seuse  tripping  through  the  streets  of  Paris  with  a  tree 
full  of  coquettish  caps,  capes,  and  petticoats  borne 
before  her  by  a  half  invisible  boy. 

Being  women,  of  course,  they  talked  as  industriously 
as  they  worked  ;  fingers  flew  and  tongues  clacked  with 
equal  profit  and  pleasure,  and,  by  Saturday,  Christie 
had  made  up  her  mind  that  Mrs.  Wilkins  was  the  most 
sensible  woman  she  ever  knew.  Her  grammar  was  an 
outrage  upon  the  memory  of  Lindley  Murray,  but  the 
goodness  of  her  heart  would  have  done  honor  to  any 
saint  in  the  calendar.  She  was  very  plain,  and  her 
manners  were  by  no  means  elegant,  but  good  temper 


MRS.  WILKINS'S  MINISTER.  199 

made  that  liomely  face  most  lovable,  aDd  natural  refine- 
ment of  soul  made  mere  external  polish  of  small 
account.  Her  shrewd  ideas  and  odd  sayings  amused 
Christie  very  much,  while  her  good  sense  and  bright 
way  of  looking  at  things  did  the  younger  woman  a 
world  of  good. 

Mr.  Wilkins  devoted  himself  to  the  making  of  shoes 
and  the  consumption  of  food,  with  the  silent  regularity 
of  a  placid  animal.  His  one  dissipation  was  tobacco, 
and  in  a  fragrant  cloud  of  smoke  he  lived  and  moved 
and  had  his  being  so  entirely  that  he  might  have  been 
described  as  a  pipe  with  a  man  somewhere  behind  it. 
Christie  once  laughingly  spoke  of  this  habit  and  de- 
clared she  would  try  it  herself  if  she  thought  it  would 
make  her  as  quiet  and  undemonstrative  as  Mr.  Wilkins, 
who,  to  tell  the  truth,  made  no  more  impression  on  her 
than  a  fly. 

"I  don't  approve  on't,  but  he  might  do  w^uss.  We 
all  have  to  have  our  comfort  somehow,  so  I  let  Lisha 
smoke  as  much  as  he  likes,  and  he  lets  me  gab,  so  it 's 
about  fair,  I  reckon,"  answered  Mrs.  Wilkins,  from  the 
suds. 

She  laughed  as  she  spoke,  but  something  in  her  face 
made  Christie  suspect  that  at  some  period  of  his  life 
Lisha  had  done  "  wuss ; "  and  subsequent  observations 
confirmed  this  suspicion  and  another  one  also,  —  that 
his  good  wife  had  saved  him,  and  was  gently  easing 
him  back  to  self-control  and  self-respect.  But,  as  okl 
Fuller  quaintly  says,  "She  so  gently  folded  up  his 
faults  in  silence  that  few  guessed  them,"  and  loyally 
paid  him  that  respect  which  she  desired  others  to 
bestow.     It  was  always  "  Lisha  and  me,"  "  I  '11  ask  my 


200  WOIiK. 

husband  "  or  "  Lisha  '11  know  ;  he  don't  say  much,  but 
he 's  a  dreadful  smart  man,"  and  she  kept  up  the  fiction 
so  dear  to  her  wifely  soul  by  endowing  him  with  her 
own  virtues,  and  giving  him  the  credit  of  lier  own 
intelligence. 

Christie  loved  her  all  the  better  for  this  devotion, 
and  for  her  sake  treated  Mr.  Wilkins  as  if  he  possessed 
the  strength  of  Samson  and  the  wisdom  of  Solomon. 
He  received  her  respect  as  if  it  was  his  due,  and  now 
and  then  gi*aciously  accorded  her  a  few  words  beyond 
the  usual  scanty  allowance  of  morning  and  evening 
greetings.  At  his  shop  all  day,  she  only  saw  him  at 
meals  and  sometimes  of  an  evening,  for  Mrs.  Wilkins 
tried  to  keep  him  at  home  safe  from  temptation,  and 
Christie  helped  her  by  reading,  talking,  and  frolicking 
with  the  children,  so  that  he  might  find  home  attrac- 
tive. He  loved  his  babies  and  would  even  relinquish 
his  precious  pipe  for  a  time  to  ride  the  little  chaps  on 
his  foot,  or  amuse  Vic  with  shadow  rabbits  on  the 
wall. 

At  such  times  the  entire  content  in  Mrs.  "Wilkins's 
face  made  tobacco  fumes  endurable,  and  the  burden  of 
a  dull  man's  presence  less  oppressive  to  Christie,  who 
loved  to  pay  her  debts  in  something  besides  money. 

As  they  sat  together  finishing  off  some  delicate  laces 
that  Saturday  afternoon,  Mrs.  Wilkins  said,  "  Ef  it 's 
fair  to-moiTOW  I  want  you  to  go  to  my  meetin'  and 
hear  my  minister.     It  '11  do  you  good." 

«  Who  is  he  ?  " 

"Mr.  Power." 

Christie  looked  rather  startled,  for  she  had  heard  of 
Thomas  Power  as  a  rampant  radical  and  infidel  of  the 


MBS.   WILKINS'S  MINISTER.  201 

deepest  dye,  and  been  warned  never  to  visit  that  den 
of  iniquity  called  his  free  church. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Wilkins,  you  don't  mean  it!  "  she  said, 
leaving  her  lace  to  dry  at  the  most  critical  stage. 

"  Yes,  I  do  ! "  answered  Mrs.  Wilkins,  setting  down 
her  tiat-iron  with  emphasis,  and  evidently  preparing  to 
fight  valiantly  for  her  minister,  as  most  women  will. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon ;  I  was  a  little  surprised,  for  I  'd 
heard  all  sorts  of  things  about  him,"  Christie  hastened 
to  say. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  /i^m,  or  read  any  of  his  writ- 
ins  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Wilkins,  with  a  calmer  air, 

"  Never." 

"  Then  don't  judge.  You  go  hear  and  see  that 
blessed  man,  and  ef  you  don't  say  he 's  the  shadow  of 
a  great  rock  in  a  desert  land,  I  '11  give  up,"  cried  the 
good  woman,  waxing  poeticid  in  her  warmth. 

"  I  will  to  please  you,  if  nothing  else.  I  did  go  once 
just  because  I  was  told  not  to;  but  he  did  not  preach 
that  day  and  every  thing  was  so  peculiar,  I  didn't  know 
whether  to  like  it  or  be  shocked." 

"  It  is  kind  of  sing'lar  at  fust,  I  'm  free  to  confess, 
and  not  as  churchy  as  some  folks  like.  But  there 
ain't  no  place  but  that  big  enough  to  hold  the  crowds 
that  want  to  go,  for  the  more  he  's  abused  the  more 
folks  flock  to  see  him.  They  git  their  money's  wuth  I 
do  believe,  for  though  there  ain't  no  pulpits  and  pews, 
there 's  a  sight  of  brotherly  love  round  in  them  seats, 
and  pious  practice,  as  well  as  powerful  preaching,  in 
that  shabby  desk.  He  don't  need  no  commandments 
painted  up  behind  him  to  read  on  Sunday,  for  he  keeps 
9* 


202  WOBK. 

'em  in  his  heart  and  life  all  the  week  as  honest  as  man 
can." 

There  Mrs.  Wilkins  paused,  flushed  and  breathless 
with  her  defence,  and  Christie  said,  candidly :  "  I  did 
like  the  freedom  and  good-will  there,  for  people  sat 
where  they  liked,  and  no  one  frowned  over  shut  pew- 
doors,  at  me  a  stranger.  An  old  black  woman  sat  next 
me,  and  said  *  Amen '  when  she  liked  what  she  heard, 
and  a  very  shabby  young  man  was  on  the  otlier,  listen- 
ing as  if  his  soul  was  as  hungry  as  his  body.  People 
read  books,  laughed  and  cried,  clapped  when  pleased, 
and  hissed  when  angry  ;  that  I  did  )iot  like." 

"  No  more  does  Mr.  Power ;  he  don't  mind  the  cryin' 
and  the  smilin'  as  it 's  nat'ral,  but  noise  and  disrespect 
of  no  kind  ain't  pleasin'  to  him.  His  own  folks  behave 
becomin',  but  strangers  go  and  act  as  they  like,  tliink- 
in'  that  there  ain't  no  bounds  to  the  word  free.  Then 
we  are  picked  at  for  their  doin's,  and  Mr.  Power  has  to 
carry  other  folkses'  sins  on  his  shoulders.  But,  dear 
suz,  it  ain't  much  matter  after  all,  ef  tlie  souls  is  well- 
meanin'.  Children  always  make  a  noise  a  stri^dn'  after 
what  they  want  most,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  ef  the 
Lord  forgive  all  our  short-comin's  of  tliat  sort,  sense 
we  are  hankerin'  and  reachin'  for  the  truth." 

"  I  wish  I  had  heard  Mr.  Power  that  day,  for  I  was 
striving  after  peace  with  all  my  heart,  and  he  might 
have  given  it  to  me,"  said  Cbiistie,  interested  and  im- 
pressed with  what  she  heard. 

"  Wal,  no,  dear,  I  guess  not.  Peace  ain't  give  to  no 
one  nil  of  a  suddin,  it  gen'lly  comes  through  much 
tribulation,  and  the  sort  that  comes  hardest  is  best 
wuth  havin'.     Mr.  Power  would  a'  ploughed  and  har- 


MBS.  WILKINS'S  MINISTER.  203 

rcrcd  you,  so  to  speak,  and  sowed  good  seed  liberal ; 
then  ef  you  warn't  barren  gi'ound  things  would  have 
throve,  and  the  Lord  give  you  a  harvest  accordin'  to 
your  labor.  Who  did  you  hear  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Wilkins, 
pausing  to  starch  and  clap  vigorously. 

"  A  very  young  man  who  seemed  to  be  airing  his 
ideas  and  beliefs  in  the  frankest  manner.  He  belabored 
everybody  and  every  thing,  upset  church  and  state, 
called  names,  arranged  heaven  and  earth  to  suit  him- 
self, and  evidently  meant  every  word  he  said.  Much 
of  it  would  have  been  ridiculous  if  the  boy  had  not 
been  so  thoroughly  in  earnest ;  sincerity  always  com- 
mands respect,  and  though  people  smiled,  they  liked 
his  courage,  and  seemed  to  think  he  would  make  a  man 
when  his  spiritual  wild  oats  were  sown." 

"  I  ain't  a  doubt  on 't.  We  often  have  such,  and 
they  ain't  all  empty  talk,  nuther;  some  of  'em  are  sur- 
prisingly bright,  and  all  mean  so  well  I  don't  never 
reluct  to  hear  'em.  They  must  blow  off  their  steam 
somewhercs,  else  they'd  bust  with  the  big  idecs  a 
swellin'  in  'em  ;  Mr.  Power  knows  it  and  gives  'em  the 
chance  they  can't  find  nowheres  else.  'Pears  to  me," 
added  Mrs.  Wilkins,  ironing  rapidly  as  she  spoke,  "  that 
folks  is  very  like  clothes,  and  a  sight  has  to  be  done  to 
keep  'em  clean  and  whole.  All  on  us  has  to  lend  a 
hand  in  this  dreadful  li^xed-up  wash,  and  each  do  our 
part,  same  as  you  and  %q  is  now.  There 's  scrubbin' 
and  bilin',  wrenchin'  and  bluein',  dryin'  and  foldin', 
ironin'  and  polishin',  before  any  of  us  is  fit  for  wear  a 
Sunday  mornin'." 

"Wliat  part  does  Mr.  Power  do?"  asked  Christie, 
much  amused  at  this  peculiarly  appropriate  simile. 


204  WORK. 

"The  scrubbin'  and  the  bilin';  tliat's  always  the 
hardest  and  the  hottest  part.  He  starts  the  dirt  and 
gits  the  stains  out,  and  leaves  'em  ready  for  other  folks 
to  finish  ofl".  It  ain't  such  pleasant  work  as  hangin' 
out,  or  such  i^retty  work  as  doin'  up,  but  some  one's 
got  to  do  it,  and  them  that's  strongest  does  it  best, 
though  they  don't  git  half  so  much  credit  as  them  as 
polishes  and  crimps.  That 's  showy  work,  but  it 
wouldn't  be  no  use  ef  the  things  warn't  well  washed 
fust,"  and  Mrs.  Wilkins  thoughtfully  surveyed  the 
snowy  muslin  cap, with  its  border  fluted  like  the  petals 
of  a  prim  white  daisy,  that  hung  on  her  hand. 

"  I  'd  like  to  be  a  washerwoman  of  that  sort ;  but  as 
I  'm  not  one  of  the  strong,  I  '11  be  a  laundress,  and  try 
to  make  purity  as  attractive  as  you  do,"  said  Christie, 
soberly. 

"Ah,  my  dear,  it's  warm  and  wearin'  work  I  do 
assure  you,  and  hard  to  give  satisfoction,  try  as  you 
may.  Crowns  of  glory  ain't  wore  in  this  world,  but 
it's  my  'pinion  that  them  that  does  the  hard  jobs  here 
will  stand  a  good  chance  of  havin'  extra  bright  ones 
when  they  git  through." 

"  I  know  you  will,"  said  Christie,  warmly. 

"  Land  alive,  child !  I  warn't  thinking  of  Cynthy 
Wilkins,  but  3Ir.  Power.  I  '11  be  satisfied  ef  I  can  set 
low  down  somewheres  and  see  him  git  the  meddle. 
He  won't  in  this  world,  but  I  know  there  's  rewards 
savin'  up  for  him  byme-by." 

"  I  '11  go  to-morrow  if  it  pours ! "  said  Christie,  with 
decision. 

"  Do,  and  I  '11  lend  you  my  bunnit,"  cried  Mrs.  Wil- 
kins, passing,  with  comical  rapidity,  from  crowns  of 
glory  to  her  own  cherished  head-gear. 


MliS.    WILKINS'S  MINISTER.  205 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  can't  wear  blue,  I  look  as  yellow 
as  a  dandelion  in  it.  Mrs.  Flint  let  me  have  my  best 
things  though  I  offered  to  leave  them,  so  I  shall  be 
respectable  and  by-and-by  blossom  out." 

On  the  morrow  Christie  went  early,  got  a  good  seat, 
and  for  half  an  hour  watched  the  gathering  of  the 
motley  congregation  that  filled  the  great  hall.  Some 
came  in  timidly,  as  if  doubtful  of  their  welcome  ;  some 
noisily,  as  if,  as  Mrs.  Wilkins  said,  they  had  not  learned 
the  -svide  difference  between  liberty  and  license ;  many 
as  if  eager  and  curious ;  and  a  large  number  with  the 
look  of  children  gathering  round  a  family  table  ready 
to  be  fed,  and  sure  that  wholesome  food  would  be 
bountifully  provided  for  them. 

Christie  was  struck  by  the  large  proportion  of  young 
people  in  the  place,  of  all  classes,  both  sexes,  and 
strongly  contrasting  faces.  Delicate  girls  looking  with 
the  sweet  wistfulness  of  maidenly  hearts  for  something 
strong  to  lean  upon  and  love  ;  sad-eyed  women  turning 
to  heaven  for  the  consolations  or  the  satisfactions  earth 
could  not  give  them ;  anxious  mothers  perplexed  with 
many  cares,  trying  to  find  light  and  strength ;  young 
men  with  ardent  faces,  restless,  aspiring,  and  impetuous, 
longing  to  do  and  dare;  tired-looking  students,  with 
perplexed  wrinkles  on  their  foreheads,  evidently  come 
to  see  if  this  man  had  discovered  the  great  secrets 
they  were  delving  after ;  and  soul-sick  people  trying 
this  new,  and  perhaps  dangerous  medicine,  when  others 
failed  to  cure.  Many  earnest,  thoughtful  men  and 
women  were  there,  some  on  the  anxious  seat,  and  some 
already  at  peace,  having  found  the  clew  that  leads  safely 
through  the  labyrinth  of  life.     Here  and  there  a  white 


206  WOBK. 

head,  a  placid  old  face,  or  one  of  those  fine  counte- 
nances that  tell,  unconsciously,  the  beautiful  story  of 
a  victorious  soul. 

Some  read,  some  talked,  some  liad  flowers  in  their 
hands,  and  all  sat  at  ease,  rich  and  poor,  black  and 
white,  young  and  old,  waiting  for  the  coming  of  the 
man  who  had  power  to  attract  and  hold  so  many  of  his 
kind.  Christie  was  so  intent  on  watching  those  about 
her  that  she  did  not  see  him  enter,  and  only  knew  it  by 
the  silence  which  began  just  in  front  of  her,  and  seemed 
to  flow  backward  like  a  wave,  leaving  a  sea  of  expec- 
tant fiices  turning  to  one  point.  That  point  was  a 
gray  head,  just  visible  above  the  little  desk  which 
stood  in  the  middle  of  a  great  platform.  A  vase  of 
lovely  flowers  was  on  the  little  shelf  at  one  side,  a 
great  Bible  reposed  on  the  other,  and  a  manuscript  lay 
whitely  on  the  red  slope  between. 

In  a  moment  Christie  forgot  every  thing  else,  and 
waited  with  a  curious  anxiety  to  see  what  manner  of 
man  this  was.  Presently  he  got  up  with  an  open  book 
in  his  hand,  saying,  in  a  strong,  cheerful  voice :  "  Let 
us  sing,"  and  having  read  a  hymn  as  if  he  had  com- 
l^osed  it,  he  sat  down  again. 

Then  everybody  did  sing;  not  harmoniously,  but 
heartily,  led  by  an  organ,  which  the  voices  followed  at 
their  own  sweet  will.  At  first,  Christie  wanted  to 
smile,  for  some  shouted  and  some  hummed,  some  sat 
silent,  and  others  sung  sweetly ;  but  before  the  hymn 
ended  she  liked  it,  and  thought  that  the  natural  praise 
of  each  individual  soul  was  perhaps  more  grateful  to 
the  ear  of  God  than  masses  by  great  masters,  or  psalms 
warbled  tunefully  by  hired  opera  singers. 


MRS.    WILKINS'S  MINISTER.  207 

Then  Mr.  Power  rose  again,  and  laying  his  hands 
together,  with  a  peculiarly  soft  and  reverent  gesture, 
lifted  up  his  face  and  prayed.  Christie  had  never  heard 
a  prayer  like  that  before ;  so  devout,  so  comprehensive, 
and  so  brief.  A  quiet  talk  with  God,  asking  nothing 
but  more  love  and  duty  toward  him  and  our  fellow- 
men  ;  thanking  him  for  many  mercies,  and  confiding  all 
things  trustfully  to  the  "dear  father  and  mother  of 
souls." 

The  sermon  which  followed  was  as  peculiar  as  the 
prayer,  and  as  eftective.  "One  of  Power's  judgment- 
day  sermons,"  as  she  heard  one  man  say  to  another, 
when  it  was  over.  Christie  certainly  felt  at  first  as  if 
kingdoms  and  thrones  were  going  down,  and  each  man 
being  sent  to  his  own  place.  A  powerful  and  popular 
wrong  was  arrested,  tried,  and  sentenced  then  and 
there,  with  a  courage  and  fidelity  that  made  plain 
words  eloquent,  and  stern  justice  beautifuL  He  did 
not  take  David  of  old  for  his  text,  but  the  strong, 
sinful,  splendid  Davids  of  our  day,  who  had  not  fulfilled 
the  promise  of  their  youth,  and  whose  seeming  success 
was  a  delusion  and  a  snare  to  themselves  and  others, 
sure  to  be  followed  by  sorrowful  abandonment,  defeat, 
and  shame.  The  ashes  of  the  ancient  hypocrites  and 
Pharisees  was  left  in  peace,  but  those  now  living  were 
heartily  denounced ;  modern  money-changers  scourged 
out  of  the  temple,  and  the  everlasting  truth  set  up 
therein. 

As  he  spoke,  not  loudly  nor  vehemently,  but  with 
the  indescribable  effect  of  inward  force  and  true  inspi^ 
ration,  a  curious  stir  went  through  the  crowd  at  times, 
as  a  great  wind  sweeps  over  a  com  field,  lifting  the 


208  WORK. 

broad  leaves  to  the  light  and  testing  the  strength  of 
root  and  stem.  People  looked  at  one  another  with  a 
roused  expression ;  eyes  kindled,  heads  nodded  invol- 
untary approval,  and  an  emphatic,  "  that's  so ! "  dropped 
from  the  lips  of  men  who  saw  their  own  vague  instincts 
and  silent  opinions  strongly  confirmed  and  nobly 
uttered.  Consciences  seemed  to  have  been  pricked  to 
duty,  eyes  cleared  to  see  that  their  golden  idols  had 
feet  of  clay,  and  wavering  wills  strengthened  by  the 
salutary  courage  and  integrity  of  one  indomitable  man. 

Another  hymn,  and  a  benediction  that  seemed  like  a 
fit  grace  after  meat,  and  then  the  crowd  poured  out ; 
not  yawning,  thinking  of  best  clothes,  or  longing  for 
dinner,  but  waked  up,  full  of  talk,  and  eager  to  do 
something  to  redeem  the  country  and  the  world. 

Christie  went  rapidly  home  because  she  could  not 
help  it,  and  burst  in  upon  Mrs.  Wilkins  with  a  face  full 
of  enthusiasm,  exclaiming,  Avhile  she  cast  off  her  bonnet 
as  if  her  head  had  outgrown  it  since  she  left : 

"  It  was  splendid !  I  never  heard  such  a  sermon 
before,  and  I  '11  never  go  to  church  anywhere  else." 

"  I  knew  it !  ain't  it  fillin'  ?  don't  it  give  you  a  kind 
of  spirital  h'ist,  and  make  things  wuth  more  some- 
how?" cried  Mrs.  Wilkins,  gesticulating  with  the 
pepper-pot  in  a  way  which  did  not  improve  the  steak 
she  was  cooking,  and  caused  great  anguish  to  the  noses 
of  her  offspring,  who  were  watching  the  operation. 

Quite  deaf  to  the  chorus  of  sneezes  which  accom- 
panied her  words,  Christie  answered,  brushing  back 
her  hair,  as  if  to  get  a  better  out-look  at  creation  gen- 
erally : 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed !     At  first  it  was  rather  terrible, 


MRS.  WILKINS'S  MINISTER.  209 

and  yet  so  true  I  wouUln't  change  a  word  of  it.  But  I 
don't  wonder  be  is  misunderstood,  belied,  and  abused. 
He  tells  the  truth  so  plainly,  and  lets  in  the  light  so 
clearly,  that  hypocrites  and  sinners  must  fear  and  hate 
him.  I  think  he  teas  a  little  hard  and  unsparing,  some- 
times, though  I  don't  know  enough  to  judge  the  men 
and  measures  he  condemned.  I  admire  him  very  much, 
but  I  should  be  afraid  of  him  if  I  ever  saw  him  nearer." 

"No,  you  wouldn't;  not  a  grain.  You  hear  him 
preach  agin  and  you  '11  find  him  as  gentle  as  a  lamb. 
Strong  folks  is  apt  to  be  ruther  ha'sh  at  times ;  they 
can't  help  it  no  more  than  this  stove  can  help  scorchin' 
the  vittles  when  it  gits  red  hot.  Dinner 's  ready,  so  set 
right  up  and  tell  me  all  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Wilkins, 
slapping  the  steak  on  to  the  platter,  and  beginning  to 
deal  out  fried  potatoes  all  round  with  absent-minded 
lavishness. 

Christie  talked,  and  the  good  soul  enjoyed  that  far 
more  than  her  dinner,  for  she  meant  to  ask  Mr.  Power 
to  help  her  find  the  right  sort  of  home  for  the  stranger 
whose  unfitness  for  her  present  place  was  every  day 
made  more  apparent  to  the  mind  of  her  hostess. 

"What  took  you  there  first?"  asked  Christie,  still 
wondering  at  Mrs.  Wilkins's  choice  of  a  minister. 

"  The  Lord,  my  dear,"  answered  the  good  woman,  in 
a  tone  of  calm  conviction.  "  1  'd  heard  of  him,  and  I 
always  have  a  leanin'  towards  them  that 's  reviled ;  so 
one  Sabbath  I  felt  to  go,  and  did.  '  That 's  the  gospel 
for  me,'  says  I, '  my  old  church  ain't  big  enough  now, 
and  I  ain't  goin'  to  set  and  nod  there  any  longer,'  and 
I  didn't." 

"  Hadn't  you  any  doubts  about  it,  any  fears  of  going 


210  WOBK. 

wrong  or  being  sorry  afterwards?"  asked  Christie, 
who  believed,  as  many  do,  that  religion  could  not  be 
attained  without  much  tribulation   of  some  kind. 

"  In  some  things  folks  is  led ;  I  be  frequent,  and 
when  them  leadin's  come  I  don't  ask  no  questions  but 
jest  foller,  and  it  always  turns  out  right." 

"  I  wish  I  could  be  led." 

"  You  be,  my  dear,  every  day  of  your  life  only  you 
don't  see  it.  When  you  are  doubtful,  set  still  till  the 
call  comes,  then  git  up  and  walk  whichever  way  it 
says,  and  you  won't  fall.  You  've  had  bread  and  water 
long  enough,  now  you  want  meat  and  wine  a  spell ; 
take  it,  and  when  it 's  time  for  milk  and  honey  some 
one  will  fetch  'em  ef  you  keep  your  table  ready.  The 
Lord  feeds  us  right ;  it 's  we  that  quarrel  with  our 
vittles." 

"  I  will,"  said  Christie,  and  began  at  once  to  prepare 
her  little  board  for  the  solid  food  of  which  she  had  had 
a  taste  that  day. 

That  afternoon  Mrs.  Wilkins  took  her  turn  at  church- 
going,  saw  'Mr.  Power,  told  Christie's  story  in  her 
best  style,  and  ended  by  saying  : 

"  She 's  true  grit,  I  do  assure  you,  sir.  Willin'  to 
work,  but  she  's  seen  the  hard  side  of  things  and  got 
kind  of  discouraged.  Soul  and  body  both  wants  tink- 
erin'  up,  and  I  don't  know  anybody  who  can  do  the 
job  better  'n  you  can." 

"  Very  well,  I  '11  come  and  see  her,"  answered  Mr. 
Power,  and  Mrs.  Wilkins  went  home  well  satisfied. 

He  kept  his  word,  and  about  the  middle  of  the  week 
came  walking  in  upon  them  as  they  were  at  work. 

"  Don't  let  the  irons  cool,"  he  said,  and  sitting  down 


MRS.   WILKINS'S  MINISTER.  211 

in  the  kitchen  began  to  talk  as  comfortably  as  if  in  the 
best  parlor ;  more  so,  per]iai)s,  for  host  parlors  are  apt 
to  have  a  depressing  effect  upon  the  spirits,  while 
the  mere  sight  of  labor  is  exhilarating  to  energetic 
minds. 

He  greeted  Christie  kindly,  and  then  addressed  him- 
self to  Mrs.  Wilkins  on  various  charitable  matters,  for 
he  was  a  minister  at  large,  and  she  one  of  his  almoners. 
Christie  could  really  see  him  now,  for  when  he  preached 
she  forgot  the  man  in  the  sermon,  and  thought  of  him 
only  as  a  visible  conscience. 

A  sturdy  man  of  fifty,  with  a  keen,  brave  face,  pene- 
trating eyes,  and  mouth  a  little  grim ;  but  a  voice  so 
resonant  and  sweet  it  reminded  one  of  silver  trumpets, 
and  stirred  and  won  the  hearer  with  in-esistible  power. 
Rough  gray  hair,  and  all  the  features  rather  rugged,  as 
if  the  Great  Sculptor  had  blocked  out  a  grand  statue, 
and  left  the  man's  own  soul  to  finish  it. 

Had  Christie  known  that  he  came  to  see  her  she 
would  have  been  ill  at  ease ;  but  Mrs.  Wilkins  had  kept 
her  own  counsel,  so  when  Mr.  Power  turned  to  Christie, 
saying : 

"  My  friend  here  tells  me  you  want  something  to  do. 
Would  you  like  to  help  a  Quaker  lady  with  her  house- 
work, just  out  of  town  ?  " 

She  answered  readily:  "Yes,  sir,  any  thing  that 
is  honest." 

"Not  as  a  servant,  exactly,  but  companion  and 
helper.  Mrs.  Sterling  is  a  dear  old  lady,  and  the  place 
a  pleasant  little  nest.  It  is  good  to  be  there,  and  I 
think  you  '11  say  so  if  you  go." 

"  It  sounds  pleasant.     When  shall  I  go  ?  " 


212  WORK. 

Mr.  Power  smiled  at  her  alacrity,  but  the  longing 
look  in  her  eyes  explained  it,  for  he  saw  at  a  glance 
that  her  place  was  not  here. 

"  I  will  write  at  once  and  let  you  know  how  matters 
are  settled.  Then  you  shall  try  it,  and  if  it  is  not  what 
you  want,  we  will  find  you  something  else.  There 's 
plenty  to  do,  and  nothing  pleasanter  than  to  put  the 
rioht  pair  of  hands  to  the  right  task.  Good-by ;  come 
and  see  me  if  the  spirit  moves,  and  don't  let  go  of  Mrs. 
Wilkins  till  you  lay  hold  of  a  better  friend,  if  you  can 
find  one." 

Then  he  shook  hands  cordially,  and  went  walk- 
ing out  again  into  the  wild  March  weather  as  if  he 
liked  it. 

"  Were  you  afi-aid  of  him  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Wilkins. 

"  I  forgot  all  about  it :  he  looked  so  kind  and  fi-iendly. 
But  I  shouldn't  like  to  have  those  piercing  eyes  of  his 
fixed  on  me  long  if  I  had  any  secret  on  my  conscience," 
answered  Christie. 

"  You  ain't  nothin'  to  fear.  He  liked  your  way  of 
speakin'  fust  rate,  I  see  that,  and  you  '11  be  all  right 
now  he's  took  hold." 

"  Do  you  know  Mrs.  Sterhng  ?  " 

"  Only  by  sight,  but  she  's  a  sweet  appearin'  woman, 
and  I  wouldn't  ask  nothin'  better 'n  to  see  more  of 
her,"  said  Mrs.  Wilkins,  warmly,  fearing  Christie's  heart 
might  misgive  her. 

But  it  did  not,  and  when  a  note  came  saj-ing  Mrs. 
Sterling  would  be  ready  for  her  the  next  week,  she 
seemed  quite  content  with  every  thing,  for  though  the 
wages  wei-e  not  high  she  felt  that  country  air  and  quiet 
were  worth  more  to  her  just  then  than  money,  and 
that  Wilkinses  were  better  taken  liomoeopathically. 


MBS.    WILEIXS'S  MINISTER.  213 

The  spirit  did  move  her  to  go  and  see  Mr.  Power,  but 
she  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  pass  that  invisible 
barrier  which  stands  between  so  many  who  could  give 
one  another  genuine  help  if  they  only  dared  to  ask  it. 
But  when  Sunday  came  she  went  to  churcji,  eager 
for  more,  and  thankful  that  she  knew  where  to  go 
for  it. 

This  was  a  very  different  sermon  from  the  other,  and 
Christie  felt  as  if  he  preached  it  for  her  alone.  "  Keep 
innocency  and  take  heed  to  the  thing  that  is  right,  for 
this  will  bring  a  man  peace  at  the  last,"  might  have 
been  the  text,  and  Mr.  Power  treated  it  as  if  he  had 
known  all  the  trials  and  temptations  that  made  it  hard 
to  live  up  to. 

Justice  and  righteous  wrath  possessed  him  before, 
now  mercy  and  tenderest  sympathy  for  those  who 
fiiltered  in  well-doing,  and  the  stern  judge  seemed 
changed  to  a  pitiful  father.  But  better  than  the  pity 
was  the  wise  counsel,  the  cheering  words,  and  the  de- 
vout surrender  of  the  soul  to  its  best  instincts;  its 
close  communion  with  its  Maker,  unchilled  by  fear, 
untrammelled  by  the  narrowness  of  sect  or  supersti- 
tion, but  full  and  free  and  natural  as  the  breath  of 
life. 

As  she  listened  Christie  felt  as  if  she  was  climbing  up 
from  a  solitary  valley,  through  mist  and  shadow  toward 
a  mountain  top,  where,  though  the  way  might  be  rough 
and  strong  winds  blow,  she  would  get  a  wider  outlook 
over  the  broad  earth,  and  be  nearer  the  serene  blue 
sky.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  religion  seemed  a 
visible  and  vital  thing ;  a  power  that  she  could  grasp 
and  feel,  take  into  her  life  and  make  her  daily  bread. 


214  WORK. 

Not  a  vague,  vast  idea  floating  before  her,  now  beauti- 
ful, now  terrible,  always  undelined  and  far  away. 

She  was  strangely  and  powerfully  moved  that  day,  for 
the  ploughing  had  begun ;  and  when  the  rest  stood  up 
for  the  ]ast  hymn,  Christie  could  only  bow  her  head 
and  let  the  uncontrollable  tears  flow  down  like  summer 
rain,  while  her  heart  sang  with  new  aspiration : 

"  Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 
E'en  though  a  cross  it  be 

That  raiseth  me, 

Still  all  my  song  shall  be, 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee. 

Nearer  to  thee  ! " 

Sitting  mth  her  hand  before  her  eyes,  she  never 
stiiTed  till  the  sound  of  many  feet  told  her  that  service 
was  done.  Then  she  wiped  her  eyes,  dropped  her  veil, 
and  was  about  to  rise  when  she  saw  a  little  bunch  of 
flowers  between  the  leaves  of  the  h}Tnn  book  lying 
open  in  her  lap.  Only  a  knot  of  violets  set  in  their 
own  broad  leaves,  but  blue  as  friendly  eyes  looking 
into  hers,  and  sweet  as  kind  words  whispered  in  her 
ear.  She  looked  about  her  hoping  to  detect  and  thank 
the  giver ;  but  all  faces  were  turned  the  other  way,  and 
all  feet  departing  rapidly. 

Chi'istie  followed  with  a  very  grateful  thought  in  her 
heart  for  this  little  kindness  from  some  unknown  fiiend ; 
and,  anxious  to  recover  herself  entirely  before  she  faced 
Mrs.  Wilkins,  she  took  a  turn  in  the  park. 

The  snow  was  gone,  high  winds  had  dried  the  walk, 
and  a  clear  sky  overhead  made  one  forget  sodden  turf 
and  chilly  air.  March  was  going  out  like  a  lamb,  and 
Christie  enjoyed  an  occasional  vernal  whiff"  from  far-off 


MBS.   WILKINS'S  MINISTER.  215 

fields  and  wakening  woods,  as  she  walked  down  the 
broad  mall  watching  the  buds  on  the  boughs,  and  lis- 
tening to  the  twitter  of  the  sparrows,  evidently  discuss- 
ing the  passei-s-by  as  they  sat  at  the  doors  of  their  httle 
mansions. 

Presently  she  turned  to  walk  back  again  and  saw 
Mr.  Power  coming  toward  her.  She  was  glad,  for  all 
her  fear  had  vanished  now,  and  she  Avanted  to  thank 
him  for  the  sermon  that  had  moved  her  so  deeply.  He 
shook  hands  in  his  cordial  way,  and,  turning,  walked 
with  her,  beginning  at  once  to  talk  of  her  afiairs  as  if 
interested  in  them. 

"  Are  you  ready  for  the  new  experiment  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Quite  ready,  sir ;  very  glad  to  go,  and  very  much 
obliged  to  you  for  your  kindness  in  providing  for 
me." 

"  That  is  what  we  were  put  into  the  world  for,  to  help 
one  another.  You  can  pass  on  the  kindness  by  serving 
my  good  friends  who,  in  return,  will  do  their  best  for 
you." 

"That's  so  pleasant!  I  always  knew  there  were 
plenty  of  good,  fi'iendly  people  in  the  world,  only  1  did 
not  seem  to  find  them  often,  or  be  able  to  keep  them 
long  when  I  did.  Is  Mr.  Sterling  an  agreeable  old 
man?" 

"Very  agreeable,  but  not  old.  David  is  about 
thirty-one  or  two,  I  think.  He  is  the  son  of  my 
fi-iend,  the  husband  died  some  years  ago.  I  thought  I 
mentioned  it." 

"  You  said  in  your  note  that  Mr.  Sterling  was  a  florist, 
and  might  like  me  to  help  in  the  green-house,  if  I  was 
willing.  It  must  be  lovely  work,  and  I  should  like  it 
very  much." 


216  WORK. 

"  Yes,  David  devotes  himself  to  his  flowers,  and  leads 
a  very  quiet  life.  You  may  think  him  rather  grave  and 
blunt  at  first,  but  you  '11  soon  find  him  out  and  get  on 
comfortably,  for  he  is  a  truly  excellent  fellow,  and  my 
right-hand  man  in  good  works." 

A  curious  little  change  had  passed  over  Christie's  face 
during  these  last  questions  and  answers,  unconscious, 
but  quite  observable  to  keen  eyes  hke  Mr.  Power's. 
Surprise  and  interest  appeared  first,  then  a  shadow  of 
reserve  as  if  the  young  woman  dropped  a  thin  veil  be- 
tween herself  and  the  young  man,  and  at  the  last  words 
a  half  smile  and  a  shght  raising  of  the  brows  seemed  to 
express  the  queer  mixture  of  pity  and  indifference  with 
which  we  are  all  apt  to  regard  "  excellent  fellows  "  and 
"  amiable  girls."  Mr.  Power  understood  the  look,  and 
went  on  more  confidentially  than  he  had  at  first  in- 
tended, for  he  did  not  Avant  Christie  to  go  off  with  a 
prejudice  in  her  mind  which  might  do  both  David  and 
herself  injustice. 

"People  sometimes  misjudge  him,  for  he  is  rather 
old-fashioned  in  manner  and  plain  in  speech,  and  may 
seem  unsocial,  because  he  does  not  seek  society.  But 
those  who  know  the  cause  of  this  forgive  any  Httle 
short-comings  for  the  sake  of  the  genuine  goodness  of 
the  man.  David  had  a  great  trouble  some  years  ago 
and  suffered  much.  He  is  learning  to  bear  it  bravely, 
and  is  the  better  for  it,  though  the  memory  of  it  is  still 
bitter,  and  the  cross  hard  to  bear  even  with  pride  to 
help  him  hide  it,  and  principle  to  keep  him  from 
despair." 

Mr.  Power  glanced  at  Christie  as  he  paused,  and  was 
satisfied  with  the  effect  of  his  words,  for  interest,  pity, 


MRS.    WILKINS'S  MINISTER,  217 

and  respect  shone  in  her  face,  and  proved  that  he  had 
touched  the  right  string.  She  seemed  to  feel  that  this 
little  confidence  was  given  for  a  purpose,  and  showed 
that  she  accepted  it  as  a  sort  of  gage  for  her  own  fidelity 
to  her  new  employers. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  I  shall  remember,"  she  said,  with 
her  frank  eyes  lifted  gravely  to  his  own.  "I  like  to 
work  for  people  whom  I  can  respect,"  she  added,  "  and 
will  bear  with  any  peculiarities  of  Mr.  Sterling's  with- 
out a  thought  of  complaint.  When  a  man  has  suffered 
through  one  woman,  all  women  should  be  kind  and 
patient  with  him,  and  try  to  atone  for  the  wrong  which 
lessens  his  respect  and  faith  in  them." 

« There  you  are  right ;  and  in  this  case  all  women 
should  be  kind,  for  David  pities  and  protects  woman- 
kind as  the  only  retaliation  for  the  life-long  grief  one 
woman  brought  upon  him.     That's  not  a  common  re- 

vensje,  is  it  ?  " 

"It 's  beautiful ! "  cried  Christie,  and  instantly  David 

was  a  hero. 

"At  one  time  it  was  an  even  chance  whether  that 
trouble  sent  David  to  nhe  devil,'  as  he  expressed  it,  or 
^ade  a  man  of  him.  That  little  saint  of  a  mother  kept 
him  safe  till  the  first  desperation  was  over,  and  now  he 
lives  for  her,  as  he  ought.  Not  so  romantic  an  ending 
as  a  pistol  or  Byi'onic  scorn  for  the  world  in  general 
and  women  in  particular,  but  dutiful  and  brave,  since 
it  often  takes  more  courage  to  live  than  to  die." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Christie,  heartily,  though  her  eyes 
fell,  remembeiing  how  she  had   failed  with   far   less 
cause  for  despair  than  David. 
10 


218  WOBK. 

They  were  at  the  gate  now,  and  Mr.  Power  left  her, 
saying,  with  a  vigorous  hand-shake  : 

"Best  wishes  for  a  happy  summer.  I  shall  come 
sometimes  to  see  how  you  prosper ;  and  remember,  if 
you  tire  of  it  and  want  to  change,  let  me  know,  for  I 
take  great  satisfaction  in  putting  the  right  people  in  the 
right  places.     Good-by,  and  God  be  with  you." 


CHAPTER  X. 

BEGINNING   AGAIN. 


Mrs.  Sterling. 

IT  was  an  April  day  when  Christie  went  to  her  new 
home.  "Warm  rains  had  melted  the  last  trace  of 
snow,  and  every  bank  was  full  of  pricking  grass-blades, 
brave  little  pioneers  and  heralds  of  the  Spring.  The 
budding  elm  boughs  swung  in  the  wind ;  blue-jays 
screamed  among  the  apple-trees;  and  robins  chirped 
shrilly,  as  if  rejoicing  over  winter  hardships  safely 
passed.  Vernal  freshness  was  in  the  air  despite  its 
chill,  and  lovely  hints  of  summer  time  were  every- 
where. 


220  WORK. 

These  welcome  sights  and  sounds  met  Christie,  as 
she  walked  down  the  lane,  and,  coming  to  a  gate, 
joaused  there  to  look  about  her.  An  old-fashioned 
cottage  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  garden  just  awakening 
from  its  winter  sleep.  One  elm  hung  protectingly  over 
the  low  roof,  sunshine  lay  warmly  on  it,  and  at  every 
window  flowers'  bright  faces  smiled  at  the  passer-by 
invitingly. 

On  one  side  glittered  a  long  green-house,  and  on  the 
other  stood  a  barn,  with  a  sleek  cow  ruminating  in  the 
yard,  and  an  inquiring  horse  poking  his  head  out  of  his 
stall  to  view  the  world.  Many  comfortable  gray  hens 
were  clucking  and  scratching  about  the  hay-strewn 
floor,  and  a  flock  of  doves  sat  cooing  on  the  roof. 

A  quiet,  friendly  place  it  looked ;  for  nothing  marred 
its  peace,  and  the  hopeful,  healthful  spirit  of  the  season 
seemed  to  haunt  the  spot.  Snow-drops  and  crocuses 
were  up  in  one  secluded  nook ;  a  plump  maltese  cat  sat 
purring  in  the  porch  ;  and  a  dignified  old  dog  came 
marching  down  the  walk  to  escort  the  stranger  in. 
With  a  brightening  face  Christie  went  up  the  path, 
atid  tapped  at  the  quaint  knocker,  hoping  that  the  face 
she  was  about  to  see  would  be  in  keeping  with  the 
pleasant  place. 

She  was  not  disappointed,  for  the  dearest  of  little 
Quaker  ladies  opened  to  her,  with  such  an  air  of  peace 
and  good-will  that  the  veriest  rufiian,  coming  to  molest 
or  make  afraid,  would  have  found  it  impossible  to  mar 
the  tranquillity  of  that  benign  old  face,  or  disturb  one 
fold  of  the  soft  muslin  crossed  upon  her  breast. 

"I  come  from  Mr.  Power,  and  I  have  a  note  for 
Mrs.  Sterling,"  began  Christie  in  her  gentlest  tone,  as 


BEOINNINQ  AGAIN.  221 

her  last  fear  vanished  at  sight  of  tliat  miUl  maternal 

« I  am  she  ;  come  in,  fi-icnd  ;  I  am  glad  to  see  thee, 
said  tlie  old  lady,  smiling  placidly,  as  she  led  the  way 
into  a  room  whose  principal   furniture  seemed   to  be 
books,  flowers,  and  sunshine. 

The  look,  the  tone,  the  gentle  "  thee,"  went  straight 
to  Christie's  heart ;  and,  while  Mrs.  Sterling  put  on  her 
spectacles  and  slowly  read  the  note,  she  stroked  the  cat 
and  said  to  herself :  "  Surely,  I  have  fallen  among  a  set, 
of  ancels.  I  thought  Mrs.  Wilkins  a  sort  of  samt,  Mr. 
Power  was  an  improvement  even  upon  that  good  soul, 
and  if  I  am  not  mistaken  this  sweet  little  lady  is  the 
best  and  dearest  of  all.    I  do  hope  she  will  like  me 

"It  is  quite  right,  my  dear,  and  I  am  most  glad  to 
see  thee ;  for  we  need  help  at  this  season  of  the  ye.ar, 
and  have  had  none  for  several  weeks.  Step  up  to  the 
room  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and  lay  off  thy  things. 
Then,  if  thee  is  not  tired,  I  will  give  thee  a  l.tt  e  job 
with  me  in  the  kitchen,"  said  the  old  lady  with  a  kmdly 
directness  which  left  no  room  for  awkwardness  on  the 
new-comer's  part. 

Up  went  Christie,  and  after  a  hasty  look  round  a 
room  as  plain  and  white  and  still  as  a  nun's  cell,  she 
whisked  on  a  working-apron  and  ran  down  again, 
feelin-,  as  she  fancied  the  children  did  m  the  fairy  tale 
whenlhey  first  arrived  at  the  house  of  the  little  old 
woman  who  lived  in  the  wood. 

Mrs.  Wilkins's  kitchen  was  as  neat  as  a  room  could 
be,  wherein  six  children  came  and  went,  but  this 
kitchen  was  tidy  with  the  immaculate  order  of  which 
Shakers  and  Quakers  alone  seem  to  possess  the  secret,— 


222  WORK. 

a  fragrant,  shining  cleanliness,  that  made  even  black 
kettles  ornamental  and  dish-pans  objects  of  interest. 
Nothing  burned  or  boiled  over,  though  the  stove  was 
full  of  dinner-pots  and  skillets.  There  was  no  litter  or 
hurry,  though  the  baking  of  cake  and  pies  was  going 
on,  and  when  Mrs.  Sterling  put  a  pan  of  apples,  and  a 
knife  into  her  new  assistant's  hands,  saying  in  a  tone 
that  made  the  request  a  favor,  "  Will  thee  kindly  pare 
these  for  me  ?  "  Christie  wondered  what  would  happen 
f  if  she  dropped  a  seed  upon  the  floor,  or  did  not  cut  the 
apples  into  four  exact  quarters. 

"  I  never  shall  suit  this  dear  prim  soul,"  she  thought, 
as  her  eye  went  from  Puss,  sedately  perched  on  one 
small  mat,  to  the  dog  dozing  uj)on  another,  and  neither 
offering  to  stir  from  their  own  dominions. 

This  dainty  nicety  amused  her  at  first,  but  she  liked 
it,  and  very  soon  her  thoughts  went  back  to  the  old 
times  when  she  worked  with  Aunt  Betsey,  and  learned 
the  good  old-fashioned  arts  which  now  were  to  prove 
her  fitness  for  this  pleasant  place. 

Mrs.  Sterling  saw  the  shadow  that  crept  into  Chris- 
tie's face,  and  led  the  chat  to  cheerful  things,  not  saying 
much  herself,  but  beguiling  the  other  to  talk,  and  listen- 
ing with  an  interest  that  made  it  easy  to  go  on. 

Mr.  Power  and  the  Wilkinses  made  them  fi-iends 
very  soon ;  and  in  an  hour  or  two  Christie  was  moving 
about  the  kitchen  as  if  she  had  already  taken  posses- 
sion of  her  new  kingdom. 

"Thee  likes  housework  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Sterling, 
as  she  watched  her  hang  up  a  towel  to  dry,  and  rinse 
her  dish-cloth  when  the  cleaning  up  was  done. 

"  Oh,  yes !  if  I  need  not  do  it  with  a  shiftless  Irish  girl 


BEGINNING  AGAIN.  223 

to  drive  me  distracted  by  pretending  to  help.  I  have 
lived  out,  and  did  not  find  it  hard  while  I  had  my  good 
Ilepsey.  I  was  second  girl,  and  can  set  a  table  in  style. 
Shall  I  try  now  ?  "  she  asked,  as  the  old  lady  went  into 
a  little  dining-room  with  fresh  napkins  in  her  hand. 

"  Yes,  but  we  have  no  style  here.  I  will  show  thee 
once,  and  hereafter  it  will  be  thy  work,  as  thy  feet  are 
younger  than  mine." 

A  nice  old-fashioned  table  was  soon  spread,  and 
Christie  kept  smiling  at  the  contrast  between  this  and 
Mrs.  Stuart's.  Chubby  little  pitchers  appeared,  delicate 
old  glass,  queer  china,  and  tiny  tea-spoons;  Hnen  as 
smooth  as  satin,  and  a  quaint  tankard  that  might  have 
come  over  in  the  "  May-flower." 

"  Now,  will  thee  take  that  pitcher  of  water  to  David's 
room?  It  is  at  the  top  of  the  house,  and  may  need 
a  little  dusting.  I  have  not  been  able  to  attend  to 
it  as  I  would  like  since  I  have  been  alone,"  said -Mrs. 
Sterling. 

Rooms  usually  betray  something  of  the  character  and 
tastes  of  their  occupants,  and  Christie  paused  a  moment 
as  she  entered  David's,  to  look  about  her  with  feminine 
interest. 

It  was  the  attic,  and  extended  the  whole  length  of 
the  house.  One  end  was  curtained  off  as  a  bedroom, 
and  she  smiled  at  its  austere  simplicity. 

A  gable  in  the  middle  made  a  sunny  recess,  where 
were  stored  bags  and  boxes  of  seed,  bunches  of  herbs, 
and  shelves  full  of  those  tiny  pots  in  which  baby  plants 
are  born  and  nursed  till  they  can  grow  alone. 

The  west  end  w\as  evidently  the  study,  and  here 
Christie  took  a  good  look  as  she  dusted  tidily.    The 


224  WOBK. 

furniture  was  nothing,  only  an  old  sofa,  with  the  horse- 
hair sticking  out  in  tufts  here  and  there;  an  antique 
secretary;  and  a  table  covered  with  books.  As  she 
whisked  the  duster  down  the  front  of  the  ancient  piece 
of  furniture,  one  of  the  doors  in  the  upper  half  swung 
open,  and  Christie  saw  three  objects  that  irresistibly 
riveted  her  eyes  for  a  moment.  A  broken  fan,  a  bundle 
of  letters  tied  up  with  a  black  ribbon,  and  a  little  work- 
basket  in  which  lay  a  fanciful  needle-book  with  "Letty  " 
embroidered  on  it  in  faded  silk. 

"  Poor  David,  that  is  his  little  shrine,  and  I  have  no 
right  to  see  it,"  thought  Christie,  shutting  the  door  with 
self-reproachful  haste. 

At  the  table  she  paused  again,  for  books  always  at- 
tracted her,  and  here  she  saw  a  goodly  array  whose  names 
were  like  the  faces  of  old  friends,  because  she  remem- 
bered them  in  her  father's  library. 

Faust  was  full  of  ferns,  Shakspeare,  of  rough  sketches 
of  the  men  and  women  whom  he  has  made  immor- 
tal. Saintly  Herbert  lay  side  by  side  with  Saint 
Augustine's  confessions.  Milton  and  Montaigne  stood 
socially  together,  and  Andersen's  lovely  "  Marchen  "  flut- 
tered its  pictured  leaves  in  the  middle  of  an  open  Plato ; 
while  several  books  in  unknown  tongues  were  half- 
hidden  by  volumes  of  Browning,  Keats,  and  Coleridge. 

In  the  middle  of  this  fine  society,  slender  and  trans- 
parent as  the  spirit  of  a  shape,  stood  a  little  vase  hold- 
ing one  half-opened  rose,  fresh  and  fragrant  as  if  just 
gathered. 

Christie  smiled  as  she  saw  it,  and  wondered  if  the 
dear,  dead,  or  false  woman  had  been  fond  of  roses. 

Then  her  eye  went  to  the  mantel-piece,  just  above 


BEGINNING  AGAIN.  225 

the  table,  and  she  laughed ;  for,  on  it  stood  three  busts, 
idols  evidently,  but  very  shabby  ones  ;  for  Gothe's  nose 
was  broken,  Schiller's  head  cracked  visibly,  and  the 
dust  of  ages  seemed  to  have  settled  upon  Linnaeus  in 
the  middle.  On  the  wall  above  them  hung  a  curious 
old  picture  of  a  monk  kneeling  in  a  devout  ecstasy, 
while  the  face  of  an  angel  is  dimly  seen  through  the 
radiance  that  floods  the  cell  with  divine  light.  Por- 
traits of  Mr.  Power  and  Martin  Luther  stared  thousht- 

CD 

fully  at  one  another  fi-om  either  side,  as  if  making  up 
their  minds  to  shake  hands  in  spite  of  time  and  space. 

"  Melancholy,  learned,  and  sentimental,"  said  Christie 
to  herself,  as  she  settled  David's  character  after  these 
discoveries. 

The  sound  of  a  bell  made  her  hasten  down,  more 
curious  than  ever  to  see  if  this  belief  was  true. 

"  Perhaps  thee  had  better  step  out  and  call  my  son. 
Sometimes  he  does  not  hear  the  bell  when  he  is  busy. 
Thee  will  find  my  garden-hood  and  shawl  behind  the 
door,"  said  Mrs.  Sterling,  presently;  for  punctuality 
was  a  great  virtue  in  the  old  lady's  eyes. 

Christie  demurely  tied  on  the  little  pumpkin-hood, 
wrapped  the  gray  shawl  about  her,  and  set  out  to  find 
her  "  master,"  as  she  had  a  fancy  to  call  this  unknown 
David. 

From  the  hints  dropped  by  Mr.  Power,  and  her  late 
discoveries,  she  had  made  a  hero  for  herself;  a  sort  of 
melancholy  Jaques ;  sad  and  pale  and  stern ;  retired 
froni  the  world  to  nurse  his  wounds  in  solitude.  She 
rather  liked  this  fjicture ;  for  romance  dies  hard  in  a 
woman,  and,  spite  of  her  experiences,  Christie  still  in- 
dulged in  dreams  and  fancies.  "  It  will  be  so  interest- 
10*  o 


226  WORK. 

ing  to  see  how  he  bears  his  secret  sorrow.  I  am  fond 
of  woe ;  but  I  do  hope  he  won't  be  too  lackadaisical,  for 
I  never  could  abide  that  sort  of  blighted  being." 

Thinking  thus,  she  peeped  here  and  there,  but  saw  no 
one  in  yard  or  barn,  except  a  workman  scraping  the 
mould  off  his  boots  near  the  conservatory. 

"  This  David  is  among  the  flowers,  I  fancy ;  I  will 
just  ask,  and  not  bolt  in,  as  he  does  not  know  me. 
"  Where  is  Mr.  Sterling  ?  "  added  Chiistie  aloud,  as  she 
approached. 

The  man  looked  up,  and  a  smile  came  into  his  eyes, 
as  he  glanced  from  the  old  hood  to  the  young  face  in- 
side. Then  he  took  off  his  hat,  and  held  out  his  hand, 
saying  with  just  his  mother's  simple  directness: 

"  I  am  David ;  and  this  is  Chiistie  Devon,  I  know. 
How  do  you  do  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  dinner 's  ready,"  was  all  she  could  reply,  for 
the  discovery  that  this  was  the  "  master,"  nearly  took 
her  breath  away.  Not  the  faintest  trace  of  the  melan- 
choly Jaques  about  him ;  nothing  interesting,  romantic, 
pensive,  or  even  stern.  Only  a  broad-shouldered,  brown- 
bearded  man,  with  an  old  hat  and  coat,  trousers  tucked 
into  his  boots,  fresh  mould  on  the  hand  he  had  given 
her  to  shake,  and  the  cheeriest  voice  she  had  ever 
heard. 

What  a  blow  it  was  to  be  sure!  Christie  actually 
felt  vexed  with  him  for  disappointing  her  so,  and  could 
not  recover  herself,  but  stood  red  and  awkward,  till, 
with  a  last  scrape  of  his  boots,  David  said  with  placid 
brevity : 

"Well,  shall  we  go  in?" 

Christie  walked  rapidly  into  the  house,  and  by  the 


BEGINNING  AGAIN.  227 

time  she  got  there  the  absurdity  of  her  fancy  struck 
her,  and  she  stilled  a  hiugh  in  the  depths  of  the  httie 
punipkin-liood,  as  she  hung  it  up.  Then,  assuming  her 
gravest  air,  she  went  to  give  the  finishing  touches  to 
dinner. 

Ten  minutes  later  she  received  another  surprise ;  for 
David  appeared  washed,  brushed,  and  in  a  suit  of  gray, 
—  a  personable  gentleman,  quite  unlike  the  workman 
in  the  yard. 

Christie  gave  one  look,  met  a  pair  of  keen  yet  kind 
eyes  with  a  suppressed  laugh  in  them,  and  dropped  her 
own,  to  be  no  more  lifted  up  till  dinner  was  done. 

It  was  a  very  quiet  meal,  for  no  one  said  much  ;  and 
it  was  evidently  the  custom  of  the  house  to  eat  silently, 
only  now  and  then  saying  a  few  Mendly  words,  to  show 
that  the  hearts  were  social  if  the  tongues  were  not. 

On  the  present  occasion  this  suited  Christie ;  and  she 
ate  her  dinner  without  making  any  more  discoveries, 
except  that  the  earth-stained  hands  were  very  clean 
now,  and  skilfully  suppUed  her  wants  before  she  could 
make  them  known. 

As  they  rose  from  table,  Mrs.  Sterling  said :  "  Davy, 
does  thee  want  any  help  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  of  some  in  about  an  hour  if 
thee  can  spare  it,  mother." 

"  I  can,  dear." 

"  Do  you  care  for  flowers  ?  "  asked  David,  turning  to 
Christie,  "  because  if  you  do  not,  this  will  be  a  very 
trying  place  for  you." 

"  I  used  to  love  them  dearly ;  but  I  have  not  had  any 
for  so  long  I  hardly  remember  how  they  look,"  an- 
swered Christie  with  a  sigh,  as  she  recalled  Rachel's 


228  WORK. 

roses,  dead  long  ago.  "  Shy,  sick,  and  sad ;  poor  soul, 
we  must  lend  a  hand  and  cheer  her  up  a  bit "  thought 
David,  as  he  watched  her  eyes  turn  toward  the  green 
thino-s  in  the  windows  with  a  bright,  soft  look,  he  liked 
to  see. 

"  Come  to  the  conservatory  in  an  hour,  and  I  '11  show 
you  the  best  part  of  a  '  German,' "  he  said,  with  a  nod 
and  a  smile,  as  he  went  away,  beginning  to  whistle  like 
a  boy  when  the  door  was  shut  behind  him. 

"What  did  he  mean?"  thought  Christie,  as  she 
helped  clear  the  table,  and  put  every  thing  in  Pimlico 
order. 

She  was  curious  to  know,  and  when  Mrs.  Sterling 
said :  "  Now,  my  dear,  I  am  going  to  take  my  nap,  and 
thee  can  help  David  if  thee  likes,"  she  was  quite  ready 
to  try  the  new  work. 

She  would  have  been  more  than  woman  if  she  had 
not  first  slipped  upstairs  to  smooth  her  hair,  put  on  a 
fresh  collar,  and  a  black  silk  apron  with  certain  effective 
frills  and  pockets,  while  a  scarlet  rigolette  replaced  the 
hood,  and  lent  a  little  color  to  her  pale  cheeks. 

"  I  am  a  poor  ghost  of  what  I  was,"  she  thought ; 
"  but  that 's  no  matter :  few  can  be  pretty,  any  one  can 
be  neat,  and  that  is  more  than  ever  necessary  here." 

Then  she  went  away  to  the  conservatory,  feeling 
rather  oppressed  with  the  pity  and  sympathy,  for  which 
there  was  no  call,  and  fervently  wishing  that  David 
would  not  be  so  comfortable,  for  he  ate  a  hearty  din- 
ner, laughed  four  times,  and  whistled  as  no  heart-broken 
man  would  dream  of  doing. 

No  one  was  visible  as  she  went  in,  and  walking  slow- 
ly down  the  green  aisle,  she  gave  herself  up  to  the  en- 


BEGINNING  AGAIN.  229 

joy  men  t  of  the  lovely  place.  The  damp,  sweet  air 
made  summer  there,  and  a  group  of  slender,  oriental 
trees  whispered  in  the  breath  of  wind  that  blew  in  from 
an  open  sash.  Strange  vines  and  flowers  hung  overhead  ; 
banks  of  azaleas,  ruddy,  white,  and  purple,  bloomed 
in  one  place ;  roses  of  every  hue  turned  their  lovely 
faces  to  the  sun ;  ranks  of  deUcate  ferns,  and  heaths 
with  their  waxen  bells,  were  close  by  ;  glowing  gerani- 
ums and  stately  lilies  side  by  side  ;  savage-looking  scarlet 
flowers  with  purple  hearts,  or  orange  spikes  rising  from 
leaves  mottled  with  strange  colors  ;  dusty  passion-flow- 
ers, and  gay  nasturtiums  climbing  to  the  roof.  All 
manner  of  beautiful  and  curious  plants  were  there ;  and 
Christie  walked  among  them,  as  happy  as  a  child  who 
finds  its  playmates  again. 

Coming  to  a  bed  of  pansies  she  sat  down  on  a  rustic 
chair,  and,  leaning  forward,  feasted  her  eyes  on  these 
her  favorites.  Her  foco  grew  young  as  she  looked,  her 
hands  touched  them  with  a  lingering  tenderness  as  if 
to  her  they  were  half  human,  and  her  own  eyes  were 
so  busy  enjoying  the  gold  and  purple  spread  before 
her,  that  she  did  not  see  another  pair  peering  at  her 
over  an  unneighborly  old  cactus,  all  prickles,  and  queer 
knobs.     Presently  a  voice  said  at  her  elbow : 

"  You  look  as  if  you  saw  something  beside  pansies 
there." 

David  spoke  so  quietly  that  it  did  not  startle  her,  and 
she  answered  before  she  had  time  to  feel  ashamed  of 
her  fancy. 

"  I  do ;  for,  ever  since  I  was  a  child,  I  always  see  a 
little  face  when  I  look  at  this  flower.  Sometimes  it  is 
a  sad  one,  sometimes  it 's  merry,  often  roguish,  but  al- 


230  WOBK, 

ways  a  dear  little  face ;  and  when  I  see  so  many  to- 
gether, it 's  like  a  flock  of  children,  all  nodding  and  smil- 
ing at  me  at  once." 

"  So  it  is ! "  and  David  nodded,  and  smiled  himself, 
as  he  handed  her  two  or  three  of  the  finest,  as  if  it  was 
as  natural  a  thing  as  to  put  a  sprig  of  mignonette  in 
his  own  button-hole. 

Christie  thanked  him,  and  then  jumped  up,  remem- 
bering that  she  came  there  to  work,  not  to  dream.  He 
seemed  to  understand,  and  went  into  a  little  room  near 
by,  saying,  as  he  pointed  to  a  heap  of  gay  flowers  on 
the  table : 

"  These  are  to  be  made  into  little  bouquets  for  a 
'  German '  to-night.  It  is  pretty  Avork,  and  better  fitted 
for  a  woman's  fingers  than  a  man's.  This  is  all  you 
have  to  do,  and  you  can  use  your  taste  as  to  colors." 

While  he  spoke  David  laid  a  red  and  white  carna- 
tion on  a  bit  of  smilax,  tied  them  together,  twisted  a 
morsel  of  silver  foil  about  the  stems,  and  laid  it  before 
Christie  as  a  sample. 

"  Yes,  I  can  do  that,  and  shall  like  it  very  much,"  she 
said,  burying  her  nose  in  the  mass  of  sweetness  before 
her,  and  feeling  as  if  her  new  situation  grew  pleasanter 
every  minute. 

"  Here  is  the  apron  my  mother  uses,  that  bit  of  silk 
will  soon  be  spoilt,  for  the  flowers  are  wet,"  and  David 
gravely  offered  her  a  large  checked  pinafore. 

Christie  could  not  help  laughing  as  she  put  it  on : 
all  this  was  so  different  from  the  imaginary  picture  she 
had  made.  She  was  disappointed,  and  yet  she  began 
to  feel  as  if  the  simple  truth  was  better  than  the  senti- 
mental fiction ;  and  glanced  up  at  David  involuntarily 


BE  GINNING  AGAIN.  231 

to  see  if  there  were  any  traces  of  interesting  woe  about 
him. 

But  he  was  looking  at  her  with  the  steady,  straight- 
forward look  wliich  she  liked  so  much,  yet  could  not 
meet  just  yet;  and  all  she  saw  was  that  he  was  smiling 
also  with  an  indulgent  expression  as  if  she  was  a  little 
girl  whom  he  was  trying  to  amuse. 

**  Make  a  few,  and  I  '11  be  back  directly  when  I  have 
attended  to  another  order,"  and  he  went  away  thinking 
Chiistie's  face  was  very  like  the  pansies  they  had  been 
talking  about,  —  one  of  the  sombre  ones  with  a  bright 
touch  of  gold  deep  down  in  the  heart,  for  thin  and  pale 
as  the  face  was,  it  lighted  up  at  a  kind  word,  and  all 
the  sadness  vanished  out  of  the  anxious  eyes  when  the 
frank  laugh  came. 

Christie  fell  to  work  with  a  woman's  interest  in  such 
a  pleasant  task,  and  soon  tied  and  twisted  skilfully, 
exercising  all  her  taste  in  contrasts,  and  the  pretty 
little  conceits  flower-lovers  can  produce.  She  was  so 
interested  that  presently  she  began  to  hum  half  un- 
consciously, as  she  was  apt  to  do  when  happily  em- 
ployed : 

"  Welcome,  maids  of  honor, 
You  do  bring 
In  the  spring. 
And  wait  upon  her. 
She  has  virgins  many. 
Fresh  and  fair, 
Yet  you  are 
More  sweet  than  any." 

There  she  stopped,  for  David's  step  drew  near,  and 
she  remembered  where  she  was. 

"  The  last  verse  is  the  best  in  that  little  poem.    Have 


232 


WORK. 


you  forgotten  it?"  he  said,  pleased  and  surprised  to 
find  the  new-comer  singing  Herrick's  lines  "  To  Violets." 
"  Almost ;  my  father  used  to  say  that  when  we  went 
looking  for  early  violets,  and  these  lovely  ones  reminded 
me  of  it,"  explained  Christie,  rather  abashed. 


^S^ 


David  and  Christie  in  the  Greenhouse. 


BEGINNING  AGAIN.  '  233 

As  if  to  put  her  at  ease  David  added,  as  he  laid  an- 
other handtiil  of  double-violets  on  the  table : 


(( ( 


Y'  are  the  maiden  posies. 

And  so  graced, 

To  be  placed 
'Fore  damask  roses. 
Yet,  though  thus  respected. 

By  and  by 

Ye  do  lie, 
Poor  girls,  neglected,' 

"I  always  think  of  them  as  pretty,  modest  maids 
after  that,  and  can't  bear  to  throw  them  away,  even 
when  faded." 

Christie  hoped  he  did  not  think  her  sentimental,  and 
changed  the  conversation  by  pointing  to  her  w^ork,  and 
saying,  in  a  business-like  way : 

"  Will  these  do  ?  I  have  varied  the  posies  as  much 
as  possible,  so  that  they  may  suit  all  sorts  of  tastes  and 
whims.  I  never  went  to  a '  German '  myself;  but  I  have 
looked  on,  and  remember  hearing  the  young  people  say 
the  little  bouquets  didn't  mean  any  thing,  so  I  tried  to 
make  these  expressive." 

"  Well,  I  should  think  you  had  succeeded  excellently, 
and  it  is  a  very  pretty  fancy.  Tell  me  what  some  of 
them  mean :  will  you  ?  " 

« You  should  know  better  than  I,  being  a  florist," 
said  Christie,  glad  to  see  he  approved  of  her  work. 

"  I  can  grow  the  flowers,  but  not  read  them,"  and 
David  looked  rather  depressed  by  his  own  ignorance 
of  those  delicate  matters. 

Still  with  the  business-like  air,  Christie  held  up  one 


234  WOJRK. 

after  another  of  the  little  knots,  saying  soberly,  though 
her  eyes  smiled : 

"  This  white  one  might  be  given  to  a  newly  engaged 
girl,  as  suggestive  of  the  coming  bridal.  That  half- 
blown  bud  would  say  a  great  deal  from  a  lover  to  his 
idol ;  and  this  heliotrope  be  most  encouraging  to  a 
timid  swain.  Here  is  a  rosy  daisy  for  some  meiTy  little 
damsel ;  there  is  a  scarlet  posy  for  a  soldier ;  this  deli- 
cate azalea  and  fern  for  some  lovely  creature  just  out; 
and  there  is  a  bunch  of  sober  pansies  for  a  spinster,  if 
spinsters  go  to  '  Germans.'  Heath,  scentless  but  pretty, 
would  do  for  many ;  these  Parma  violets  for  one  with 
a  sorrow;  and  this  curious  purple  flower  with  aiTow- 
shaped  stamens  would  just  suit  a  handsome,  sharp- 
tongued  woman,  if  any  partner  dared  give  it  to  her." 

Da\id  laughed,  as  his  eye  went  from  the  flowers  to 
Christie's  face,  and  when  she  laid  down  the  last  breast- 
knot,  looking  as  if  she  would  like  the  chance  of  present- 
ing it  to  some  one  she  knew,  he  seemed  much  amused. 

"  If  the  beaux  and  belles  at  this  party  have  the  wit 
to  read  your  posies,  my  fortune  will  be  made,  and  you 
will  have  your  hands  full  supplying  compliments,  dec- 
larations, rebukes,  and  criticisms  for  the  fashionable 
butterflies.  I  wish  I  could  put  consolation,  hope,  and 
submission  into  my  work  as  easily,  but  I  am  afraid  I 
can't,"  he  added  a  moment  afterward  with  a  changed 
face,  as  he  began  to  lay  the  loveliest  white  flowers  into 
a  box. 

"  Those  are  not  for  a  wedding,  then  ?  " 

"  For  a  dead  baby ;  and  I  can't  seem  to  find  any  white 
and  sweet  enough." 

"  You  know  the  people  ?  "  asked  Christie,  with  the 
sympathetic  tone  in  her  voice. 


BEGINNING  AGAIN.  235 

"  Never  saw  or  heard  of  them  till  to-day.  Isn't  it 
enough  to  know  that  '  baby 's  dead,'  as  the  poor  man 
said,  to  make  one  feel  for  them?" 

"  Of  course  it  is ;  only  you  seemed  so  interested  in 
arranging  the  flowers,  I  naturally  thought  it  was  for 
some  friend,"  Christie  answered  hastily,  for  David 
looked  half  indignant  at  her  question. 

*'  I  want  them  to  look  lovely  and  comforting  when 
the  mother  opens  the  box,  and  I  don't  seem  to  have 
the  right  flowers.  Will  you  give  it  a  touch  ?  women 
have  a  tender  way  of  doing  such  things  that  we  can 
never  learn." 

"  I  don't  think  I  can  improve  it,  unless  I  add  another 
sort  of  flower  that  seems  appropriate ;  may  I  ?  " 

"Any  thing  you  can  find." 

Christie  waited  for  no  more,  but  ran  out  of  the  green- 
house to  David's  great  surprise,  and  presently  came 
hurrying  back  with  a  handful  of  snow-drops. 

"Those  are  just  what  I  wanted,  but  I  didn't  know 
the  little  dears  were  up  yet !  You  shall  put  them  in, 
and  I  know  they  will  suggest  what  you  hope  to  these 
poor  people,"  he  said  approvingly,  as  he  placed  the  box 
before  her,  and  stood  by  watching  her  adjust  the  little 
sheaf  of  pale  flowers  tied  up  with  a  blade  of  grass. 
She  added  a  frail  fern  or  two,  and  did  give  just  the 
graceful  touch  here  and  there  which  would  speak  to 
the  mother's  sore  heart  of  the  tender  thought  some  one 
had  taken  for  her  dead  darling. 

The  box  was  sent  away,  and  Christie  went  on  with 
her  work,  but  that  little  task  performed  together  seemed 
to  have  made  them  friends;  and,  while  David  tied  up 
several  grand  bouquets  at  the  same  table,  they  talked 


236  WORK. 

as  if  the  strangeness  was  fast  melting  away  from  their 
short  acquaintance. 

Christie's  own  manners  were  so  simple  that  simplicity 
in  others  always  put  her  at  her  ease :  kindness  soon 
banished  her  reserve,  and  the  desire  to  show  that  she 
was  grateful  for  it  helped  her  to  please.  David's  blunt- 
ness  was  of  such'  a  gentle  sort  that  she  soon  got  used 
to  it,  and  found  it  a  pleasant  contrast  to  the  polite 
insincerity  so  common.  He  was  as  frank  and  friendly 
as  a  boy,  yet  had  a  certain  paternal  way  with  him 
which  rather  annoyed  her  at  first,  and  made  her  feel  as 
if  he  thought  her  a  mere  girl,  while  she  was  very  sure 
he  could  not  be  but  a  year  or  two  older  than  herself. 

"I  'd  rather  he'd  be  masterful,  and  order  me  about," 
she  thought,  still  i-ather  regretting  the  "  blighted  being  " 
she  had  not  found. 

In  spite  of  this  she  spent  a  pleasant  afternoon,  sitting 
in  that  sunny  place,  handling  flowers,  asking  questions 
about  them,  and  getting  the  sort  of  answers  she  liked; 
not  dry  botanical  names  and  facts,  but  all  the  delicate 
traits,  curious  habits,  and  poetical  romances  of  the 
sweet  things,  as  if  the  speaker  knew  and  loved  them  as 
friends,  not  merely  valued  them  as  merchandise. 

They  had  just  finished  when  the  great  dog  came 
bouncing  in  with  a  basket  in  his  mouth. 

"  Mother  wants  eggs :  will  you  come  to  the  barn  and 
get  them  ?  Hay  is  wholesome,  and  you  can  feed  the 
doves  if  you  like,"  said  David,  leading  the  way  with 
Bran  rioting  about  him. 

"  Why  don't  he  offer  to  put  up  a  swing  for  me,  or 
get  me  a  doll?  It's  the  pinafore  that  deceives  him. 
Never  mind :  I  rather  like  it  after  all,''  thought  Christie ; 


BEGINNING  AGAIN.  237 

but  she  left  the  apron  behind  her,  and  followed  with 
the  most  dignified  air. 

It  did  not  last  long,  however,  for  the  sights  and 
sounds  that  greeted  her,  carried  her  back  to  the  days 
of  egi^-hunting  in  Uncle  Enos's  big  barn ;  and,  before 
she  knew  it,  she  was  rustling  through  the  hay  mows, 
talking  to  the  cow  and  receiving  the  attentions  of  Bran 
with  a  satisfaction  it  w\as  impossible  to  conceal. 

The  hens  gathered  about  her  feet  cocking  their 
expectant  eyes  at  her ;  the  doves  came  circling  round 
her  head ;  the  cow  stared  placidly,  and  the  inquisitive 
horse  responded  affably  when  she  offered  him  a  handful 
of  hay. 

"  How  tame  they  all  are !  I  like  animals,  they  are 
so  contented  and  intelligent,"  she  said,  as  a  plump  dove 
lit  on  her  shoulder  with  an  impatient  coo. 

"That  was  Kitty's  pet,  she  always  fed  the  fowls. 
Would  you  like  to  do  it  ? "  and  David  offered  a  little 
measure  of  oats. 

"Very  much;"  and  Christie  began  to  scatter  the 
grain,  wondering  who  "  Kitty  "  was. 

As  if  he  saw  the  wish  in  her  face,  David  added, 
while  he  shelled  corn  for  the  hens : 

"  She  was  the  little  girl  who  was  with  us  last.  Her 
father  kept  her  in  a  factory,  and  took  all  her  wages, 
barely  giving  her  clothes  and  food  enough  to  keep  her 
alive.  The  poor  child  ran  away,  and  was  trying  to 
hide  when  Mr.  Power  found  and  sent  her  here  to  be 
cared  for." 

"  As  he  did  me  ?  "  said  Christie  quickly. 

"  Yes,  that 's  a  way  he  has." 

« A  very  kind  and  Christian  way.  Why  didn't  she 
stay?" 


238  WOBK. 

"  Well,  it  was  rather  quiet  for  the  lively  little  thing, 
and  rather  too  near  the  city,  so  we  got  a  good  place  up 
in  the  country  where  she  could  go  to  school  and  learn 
housework.  The  mill  had  left  her  no  time  for  these 
things,  and  at  fifteen  she  Avas  as  ignorant  as  a  child." 

"  You  must  miss  her." 

"  I  do  very  much." 

«  Was  she  pretty  ?  " 

"  She  looked  like  a  little  rose  sometimes,"  and  David 
smiled  to  himself  as  he  fed  the  gray  hens. 

Christie  immediately  made  a  picture  of  the  "  lively 
little  thing  "  with  a  face  "  like  a  rose,"  and  was  uncom- 
fortably conscious  that  she  did  not  look  half  as  well 
feeding  doves  as  Kitty  must  have  done. 

Just  then  David  handed  her  the  basket,  saying  in  the 
paternal  way  that  half  amused,  half  piqued  her :  "  It 
is  getting  too  chilly  for  you  here  :  take  these  in  please, 
and  I  '11  bring  the  milk  directly." 

In  spite  of  herself  she  smiled,  as  a  sudden  vision  of 
the  elegant  Mr.  Fletcher,  devotedly  carrying  her  book 
or  beach-basket,  passed  through  her  mind  ;  then  hastened 
to  explain  the  smile,  for  David  lifted  his  brows  inquir- 
ingly, and  glanced  about  him  to  see  what  amused  her. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  :  I '^e  lived  alone  so  much  that 
it  seems  a  little  odd  to  be  told  to  do  things,  even  if 
they  are  as  easy  and  pleasant  as  this." 

"  I  am  so  u^ed  to  taking  care  of  people,  and  direct- 
ing, that  I  do  so  without  thinking.  I  won't  if  you 
don't  like  it,"  and  he  put  out  his  hand  to  take  back  the 
basket  with  a  grave,  apologetic  air. 

"  But  I  do  like  it ;  only  it  amused  me  to  be  treated 
like  a  little  girl  again,  when  I  am  nearly  thirty,  and 


BEGINNING  AGAIN.  239 

feel  seventy  at  least,  life  has  been  so  hard  to  me 
lately." 

Her  face  sobered  at  the  last  words,  and  David's  in- 
stantly grew  so  pitiful  she  could  not  keep  her  eyes  on 
it  lest  they  should  fill,  so  suddenly  did  the  memory  of 
past  troubles  overcome  her. 

"  I  know,"  he  said  in  a  tone  that  warmed  her  heart, 
"  I  know,  but  we  are  going  to  try,  and  make  life  easier 
for  you  now,  and  you  must  feel  that  this  is  home  and 
we  are  friends." 

"I  do !  "  and  Christie  flushed  with  grateful  feeling 
and  a  little  shame,  as  she  went  in,  thinking  to  hei- 
self :  "  How  silly  I  w^as  to  say  that !  I  may  have  spoih 
the  simple  friendliness  that  was  so  pleasant,  and  have 
made  him  think  me  a  foolish  stuck-up  old  creature." 

Whatever  he  might  have  thought,  David's  manner 
was  unchanged  when  he  came  in  and  found  her  busy 
with  the  table. 

"  It 's  pleasant  to  see  thee  resting,  mother,  and  every 
thing  going  on  so  well,"  he  said,  glancing  about  the 
room,  where  the  old  lady  sat,  and  nodding  toward  the 
kitchen,  where  Christie  was  toasting  bread  in  her  neatest 
manner. 

"  Yes,  Davy,  it  was  about  time  I  had  a  helper  for  thy 
sake,  at  least ;  and  this  is  a  great  improvement  upon 
heedless  Kitty,  I  am  inclined  to  think." 

Mrs.  Sterling  dropped  her  voice  over  that  last  sen- 
tence ;  but  Christie  heard  it,  and  was  pleased.  A  mo- 
ment or  two  later,  David  came  toward  her  with  a  glass 
in  his  hand,  saying  as  if  rather  doubtful  of  his  recep- 
tion : 

"  New  milk  is  part  of  the  cure  :  will  you  try  it  ?  " 


240  WORK. 

For  the  first  time,  Christie  looked  straight  up  in  the 
honest  eyes  that  seemed  to  demand  honesty  in  others, 
and  took  the  glass,  answering  heartily  : 

"  Yes,  thank  you ;  I  drink  good  health  to  you,  and 
better  manners  to  me." 

The  newly  lighted  lamp  shone  full  in  her  face,  and 
though  it  was  neither  young  nor  blooming,  it  showed 
something  better  than  youth  and  bloom  to  one  who 
could  read  the  subtle  language  of  character  as  David 
could.  He  nodded  as  he  took  the  glass,  and  went  away 
saying  quietly : 

"  We  are  plain  people  here,  and  you  won't  find  it 
hard  to  get  on  with  us,  I  think." 

But  he  liked  the  candid  look,  and  thought  about  it, 
as  he  chopped  kindlings,  whistling  with  a  vigor  which 
caused  Christie  to  smile  as  she  strained  the  milk. 

After  tea  a  spider-legged  table  was  drawn  out  toward 
the  hearth,  where  an  open  fire  burned  cheerily,  and 
puss  purred  on  the  rug,  with  Bran  near  by.  David 
unfolded  his  newspapers,  Mrs.  Sterling  pinned  on  her 
knitting-sheath,  and  Christie  sat  a  moment  enjoying 
the  comfortable  little  scene.  She  sighed  without  know- 
ing it,  and  Mrs.  Sterling  asked  quickly : 

"  Is  thee  tired,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  only  happy." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that :  I  was  afraid  thee  would  find  it 
dull." 

"  It 's  beautiful !  "  then  Christie  checked  herself,  feel- 
ing that  these  outbursts  would  not  suit  such  quiet 
people ;  and,  half  ashamed  of  showing  how  much  she 
felt,  she  added  soberly,  "  If  you  will  give  me  something 
to  do  I  shall  be  quite  contented." 


BEGINNING  AGAIN.  241 

"  Sewing  is  not  good  for  thee.  If  thee  likes  to  knit 
I  '11  set  up  a  sock  for  thee  to-morrow,"  said  the  old 
lady  well  pleased  at  the  industrious  turn  of  her  new 
handmaid. 

"I  like  to  darn,  and  I  see  some  to  be  done  in  this 
basket.  May  I  do  it  ?  "  and  Christie  laid  hold  of  the 
weekly  job  wliich  even  the  best  housewives  are  apt  to 
set  aside  for  pleasanter  tasks. 

"  As  thee  likes,  my  deai-.  My  eyes  will  not  let  me 
sew  much  in  the  evening,  else  I  should  have  finished 
that  batch  to-night.  Thee  will  find  the  yarn  and 
needles  in  the  little  bag." 

So  Christie  fell  to  work  on  gray  socks,  and  neat 
lavender-colored  hose,  wiiile  the  old  lady  knit  swiftly, 
and  David  read  aloud.  Christie  thought  she  was  listen- 
in  "•  to  the  report  of  a  fine  lecture ;  but  her  ear  only 
caught  the  words,  for  her  mind  w\andered  away  into  a 
re<^ion  of  its  own,  and  lived  there  till  her  task  was  done. 
Then  she  laid  the  tidy  pile  in  the  basket,  drew  her 
chair  to  a  corner  of  the  hearth,  and  quietly  enjoyed 

herself. 

The  cat,  feeling  sure  of  a  welcome,  got  up  into  her 
lap,  and  went  to  sleep  in  a  cosy  bunch ;  Bran  laid  his 
nose  across  her  feet,  and  blinked  at  her  with  sleepy 
good-will,  while  her  eyes  wandered  round  the  room, 
from  its  quaint  furniture  and  the  dreaming  flowers  in 
the  windows,  to  the  faces  of  its  occupants,  and  lingered 
there. 

The  plain  border  of  a   Quaker  cap  encircled  that 

mild  old  face,  with  bands  of  silver  hair  parted  on  a 

forehead  marked  with  many  lines.     But  the  eyes  were 

clear  and  sweet ;  winter  roses  bloomed  in  the  cheeks, 

11  p 


242  WORK. 

and  an  exquisite  neatness  pervaded  the  small  figure, 
from  the  trim  feet  on  the  stool,  to  the  soft  shawl  folded 
about  the  shoulders,  as  only  a  Quakeress  can  fold  one. 
In  Mrs.  Sterling,  piety  and  peace  made  old  age  lovely, 
and  the  mere  presence  of  this  tranquil  soul  seemed  to 
fill  the  room  with  a  reposeful  charm  none  could  resist. 

The  other  face  possessed  no  striking  comeliness  of 
shape  or  color;  but  the  brown,  becoming  beard  made 
it  manly,  and  the  broad  arch  of  a  benevolent  brow 
added  nobility  to  features  otherwise  not  beautiful,  —  a 
face  plainly  expressing  resolution  and  rectitude,  in- 
siDiring  respect  as  naturally  as  a  certain  protective 
kindliness  of  manner  won  confidence.  Even  in  repose 
wearing  a  vigilant  look  as  if  some  hidden  pain  or 
passion  lay  in  wait  to  surprise  and  conquer  the  sober 
cheerfulness  that  softened  the  lines  of  the  firm-set  lips, 
and  warmed  the  glance  of  the  thoughtful  eyes. 

Christie  fimcied  she  possessed  the  key  to  this,  and 
longed  to  know  all  the  story  of  the  cross  which  Mr. 
Power  said  David  had  learned  to  bear  so  well.  Then 
she  began  to  wonder  if  they  could  like  and  keep  her, 
to  hope  so,  and  to  feel  that  here  at  last  she  was  at 
home  w^th  friends.  But  the  old  sadness  crept  over  her, 
as  she  remembered  how  often  she  had  thought  this 
before,  and  how  soon  the  dream  ended,  the  ties  were 
broken,  and  she  adrift  again. 

"  Ah  well,"  she  said  within  herself,  "  I  won't  think 
of  the  morrow,  but  take  the  good  that  comes  and  enjoy 
it  while  I  may.  I  must  not  disappoint  Rachel,  since 
she  kept  her  w^ord  so  nobly  to  me.  Dear  soul,  when 
shall   I  see  her  again  ?  " 

The  thought  of  Rachel  always  touched  her  heart, 


BEQINNINO  AGAIN. 


243 


more  now  than  ever ;  and,  as  she  leaned  back  in  her 
chair  with  closed  eyes  and  idle  hands,  these  tender 
memories  made  her  unconscious  face  most  eloquent. 
The  eyes  peering  over  the  spectacles  telegraplied  a 
meaning  message  to  the  other  eyes  glancing  over  the 
paper  now  and  then ;  and  both  these  friends  in  deed  as 
well  as  name  felt  assured  that  this  woman  needed  all 
the  comfort  they  could  give  her.  But  the  busy  needles 
never  stopped  their  click,  and  the  sonorous  voice  read 
on  without  a  pause,  so  Christie  never  knew  what  mute 
confidences  passed  between  mother  and  son,  or  what 
heli>ful  confessions  her  traitorous  face  had  made  for  her. 

The  clock  struck  nine,  and  these  primitive  people 
prepared  for  rest ;  for  their  day  began  at  dawn,  and 
much  wholesome  work  made  sleep  a  luxury. 

"  Davy  will  tap  at  thy  door  as  he  goes  down  in  the 
morning,  and  I  will  soon  follow  to  show  thee  about 
matters.     Good-night,  and  good  rest,  my  child." 

So  speaking,  the  little  lady  gave  Christie  a  maternal 
kiss;  David  shook  hands;  and  then  she  went  away, 
wondering  why  service  was  so  lightened  by  such  little 
kindnesses. 

As  she  lay  in  her  narrow  white  bed,  with  the  "  pale 
light  of  stars"  filling  the  quiet,  cell-like  room,  and  some 
one  playing  softly  on  a  flute  overhead,  she  felt  as  if  she 
had  left  the  troublous  world  behind  her,  and  shutting 
out  want,  solitude,  and  despair,  had  come  into  some 
safe,  secluded  spot  full  of  flowers  and  sunshine,  kind 
hearts,  and  charitable  deeds. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


IN   THE    STRAWBERRY   BED. 


FROM  that  day  a  new  life  began  for  Christie,  a 
happy,  quiet,  useful  life,  utterly  unhke  any  of 
the  brilliant  futures  she  had  i^lanned  for  herself;  yet 
indescribably  pleasant  to  her  now,  for  past  experience 
had  taught  her  its  worth,  and  made  her  ready  to 
enjoy  it. 

Never  had  spring  seemed  so  early  or  so  fair,  never 
had  such  a  crop  of  hopeful  thoughts  and  happy  feel- 
ings sprung  up  in  her  heart  as  now ;  and  nowhere  was 
there  a  brighter  face,  a  blither  voice,  or  more  willing 
hands  than  Christie's  when  the  apple  blossoms  came. 

This  was  what  she  needed,  the  protection  of  a 
home,  wholesome  cares  and  duties ;  and,  best  of  all, 
fiiends  to  live  and  labor  for,  loving  and  beloved.  Her 
whole  soul  was  in  her  work  now,  and  as  health  returned, 
much  of  the  old  energy  and  cheerfulness  came  with  it, 
a  little  sobered,  but  more  sweet  and  earnest  than  ever. 
No  task  was  too  hard  or  humble  ;  no  day  long  enough 
to  do  all  she  longed  to  do ;  and  no  sacrifice  would  have 
seemed  too  great  for  those  whom  she  regarded  with 
steadily  increasing  love  and   gratitude. 

Up  at  dawn,  the  dewy  freshness  of  the  hour,  the 


ly   THE   STRAWBERRY  BED.  245 

morning  rapture  of  the  birds,  the  daily  miracle  of  sun- 
rise, set  her  heart  in  tune,  and  gave  her  Nature's  most 
healing  balm.  She  kept  the  little  house  in  order,  with 
Mrs.  Sterling  to  direct  and  share  the  labor  so  pleasantly, 
that  mistress  and  maid  soon  felt  like  mother  and 
daughter,  and  Christie  often  said  she  did  not  care  for 
any  other  wages. 

The  house-work  of  this  small  family  was  soon  done, 
and  then  Christie  went  to  tasks  that  she  liked  better, 
^[uch  out-of-door  life  was  good  for  her,  and  in  garden 
and  green-house  there  was  plenty  of  light  labor  she 
could  do.  So  she  grubbed  contentedly  in  the  whole- 
some earth,  w^eeding  and  potting,  learning  to  prune 
and  bud,  and  finding  Mrs.  Wilkins  was  quite  right  in 
her  opinion  of  the  sanitary  virtues  of  dirt. 

Trips  to  towm  to  see  the  good  \voman  and  carry 
country  gifts  to  the  little  folks ;  afternoon  drives  with 
Mrs.  Sterling  in  the  old-fashioned  chaise,  drawn  by  the 
Roman-nosed  horse,  and  Sunday  pilgrimages  to  church 
to  be  "  righted  up  "  by  one  of  Mr.  Power's  stirring  ser- 
mons, were  among  her  new  pleasures.  But,  on  the 
whole,  the  evenings  were  her  happiest  times :  for  then 
David  read  aloud  while  she  worked  ;  she  sung  to  the 
old  piano  tuned  for  her  use ;  or,  better  still,  as  spring 
came  on,  they  sat  in  the  porch,  and  talked  as  people 
only  do  talk  when  twilight,  veiling  the  outer  world, 
seems  to  lift  the  curtains  of  that  inner  world  where 
minds  go  exploring,  hearts  learn  to  know  one  another, 
and  souls  walk  together  in  the  cool  of  the  day. 

At  such  times  Christie  seemed  to  catcli  glimpses  of 
another  David  than  the  busy,  cheerful  man  appar- 
ently contented  with  the  humdrum  duties  of  an  ob- 


246  WORK. 

scure,  laborious  life,  and  the  few  unexciting  pleasures 
afforded  by  books,  music,  and  much  silent  thought. 
She  sometimes  felt  with  a  woman's  instinct  that  under 
this  composed,  commonplace  existence  another  life 
went  on ;  for,  now  and  then,  in  the  interest  of  conver- 
sation, or  the  involuntary  yielding  to  a  confidential 
impulse,  a  word,  a  look,  a  gesture,  betrayed  an  unex- 
pected power  and  passion,  a  secret  unrest,  a  bitter 
memory  that  would  not  be  ignored. 

Only  at  rare  moments  did  she  catch  these  glimpses, 
and  so  brief,  so  indistinct,  were  they  that  she  half 
believed  her  own  lively  fancy  created  them.  She  longed 
to  know  more ;  but  "  David's  trouble  "  made  him  sacred 
in  her  eyes  from  any  prj'ing  curiosity,  and  always  after 
one  of  these  twilight  betrayals  Christie  found  him  so 
like  his  unromantic  self  next  day,  that  she  laughed  and 
said  : 

"  I  never  shall  outgrow  my  foolish  way  of  trj-ing  to 
make  people  other  than  they  are.  Gods  are  gone, 
heroes  hard  to  find,  and  one  should  be  contented  with 
good  men,  even  if  they  do  wear  old  clothes,  lead  prosaic 
lives,  and  have  no  accomplishments  but  gardening, 
playing  the  flute,  and  keeping  their  temper." 

She  felt  the  influences  of  that  friendly  place  at  once  ; 
but  for  a  time  she  wondered  at  the  natural  way  in 
which  kind  things  were  done,  the  protective  care  ex- 
tended over  her,  and  the  confiding  air  with  which  these 
people  treated  her.  They  asked  no  questions,  demanded 
no  explanations,  seemed  unconscious  of  confemng 
favors,  and  took  her  into  their  life  so  readily  that  she 
marvelled,  even  while  she  rejoiced,  at  the  good  fortune 
which  led  her  there. 


7.V  THE  STRAWBERRY  BED.  247 

She  understood  this  better  wlien  she  discovered,  what 
Mr.  Power  had  not  mentioned,  that  the  little  cottage 
was  a  sort  of  refuge  for  many  women  like  herself ;  a 
halt-way  house  where  they  could  rest  and  recover  them- 
selves after  the  wrongs,  defeats,  and  weariness  that  come 
to  such  in  the  battle  of  life. 

With  a  chivalry  older  and  finer  than  any  Spenser 
sung,  Mr.  Power  befriended  these  forlorn  souls,  and 
David  was  his  faithful  squire.  Whoever  knocked  at 
that  low  door  was  welcomed,  warmed,  and  fed  ;  com- 
forted, and  set  on  their  way,  cheered  and  strengthened 
by  the  sweet  good-will  that  made  charity  no  burden, 
and  restored  to  the  more  desperate  and  despairing 
their  faith  in  human  nature  and  God's  love. 

There  are  many  such  green  spots  in  this  world  of 
ours,  which  often  seems  so  bad  that  a  second  Deluge 
could  hardly  wash  it  clean  again  ;  and  these  beneficent? 
unostentatious  asylums  are  the  salvation  of  more 
troubled  souls  than  many  a  great  institution  gilded  all 
over  with  the  rich  bequests  of  men  who  find  themselves 
too  heavily  laden  to  enter  in  at  the  narrow  gate  of 
heaven. 

IIa])py  the  foot-sore,  heart-weaiy  traveller  who  turns 
from  the  crowded,  dusty  highway  down  the  green  lane 
that  leads  to  these  humble  inns,  where  the  sign  of  the 
Good  Samaritan  is  written  on  the  face  of  whomsoever 
opens  to  the  stranger,  and  refreshment  for  soul  and 
body  is  freely  given  in  the  name  of  Him  who  loved  the 
poor. 

Mr.  Power  came  now  and  then,  for  his  large  parish 
left  him  but  little  time  to  visit  any  but  the  needy. 
Christie  enjoyed  these  brief  visits  heartily,  for  her  new 


248  WORK. 

friends  soon  felt  that  she  was  one  of  them,  and  cor- 
dially took  her  into  the  large  circle  of  workers  and 
behevers  to  Avhich   they  belonged. 

Mr.  Power's  heart  was  truly  an  orphan  asylum,  and 
every  lonely  creature  found  a  welcome  there.  He 
could  rebuke  sin  sternly,  yet  comfort  and  uplift  the 
sinner  with  fatherly  compassion ;  righteous  wrath  would 
flash  from  his  eyes  at  injustice,  and  contempt  sharpen 
his  voice  as  he  denounced  hypocrisy:  yet  the  eyes 
that  lightened  would  dim  with  pity  for  a  woman's 
wrong,  a  child's  small  sorrow ;  and  the  voice  that 
thundered  would  whisper  consolation  like  a  mother,  or 
give  counsel  with  a  wisdom  books  cannot  teach. 

He  was  a  Moses  in  his  day  and  generation,  born  to 
lead  his  peoj^le  out  of  the  bondage  of  dead  supersti- 
tions, and  go  before  them  through  a  Red  Sea  of  perse- 
cution into  the  larger  liberty  and  love  all  souls  hunger 
for,  and  many  are  just  beginning  to  find  as  they  come 
doubting,  yet  desiring,  into  the  goodly  land  such  pio- 
neers as  he  have  j^lanted  in  the  wilderness. 

He  was  like  a  tonic  to  weak  natures  and  wavering 
wills ;  and  Christie  felt  a  general  revival  going  on  within 
herself  as  her  knowledge,  honor,  and  affection  for  him 
grew.  His  strength  seemed  to  uphold  her ;  his  integ- 
rity to  rebuke  all  unworthiness  in  her  own  life  ;  and  the 
magic  of  his  generous,  genial  spirit  to  make  the  hard 
places  smooth,  the  bitter  things  sweet,  and  the  world 
seem  a  happier,  honester  place  than  she  had  ever 
thought  it  since  her  father  died. 

Mr.  Power  had  been  interested  in  her  from  the  first; 
had  watched  her  through  other  eyes,  and  tried  her  by 
various    unsuspected    tests.     She    stood    them    well; 


IN  THE   STRAWBERRY  BED.  249 

showed  her  faults  as  frankly  as  her  virtues,  and  tried  to 
deserve  their  esteem  by  copying  the  excellencies  she 
admired  in   them. 

"  She  is  made  of  the  right  stuff,  and  we  must  keep 
her  among  us ;  for  she  must  not  be  lost  or  wasted  by 
being  left  to  drift  about  the  world  with  no  ties  to  make 
her  safe  and  happy.  She  is  doing  so  well  here,  let  her 
stay  till  the  restless  spirit  begins  to  stir  again  ;  then 
she  shall  come  to  me  and  learn  contentment  by  seeing 
greater  troubles  than  her  own." 

Mr.  Power  said  this  one  day  as  he  rose  to  go,  after 
sitting  an  hour  with  Mrs.  Sterling,  and  hearing  from 
her  a  good  report  of  his  new  protegee.  The  young 
people  were  out  at  work,  and  had  not  been  called  in  to 
see  him,  for  the  interview  had  been  a  confidential  one. 
But  as  he  stood  at  the  gate  he  saw  Christie  in  the 
BtrawbeiTy  bed,  and  went  toward  her,  glad  to  see  how 
well  and  happy  she  looked. 

Her  hat  was  hanging  on  her  shoulders,  and  the  sun 
giving  her  cheeks  a  healthy  color;  she  was  humming 
to  herself  like  a  bee  as  her  fingers  flew,  and  once  she 
paused,  shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  and  took  a  long 
look  at  a  figure  down  in  the  meadow ;  then  she  worked  on 
silent  and  smiling,  —  a  pleasant  creature  to  see,  though 
her  hair  was  rufiied  by  the  wind ;  her  gingham  gown 
pinned  up ;  and  her  fingers  deeply  stained  with  the 
blood  of  many  berries. 

"I  wonder  if  that  means  any  thing?"  thought  Mr. 
Power,  with  a  keen  glance  from  the  distant  man  to  the 
busy  woman  close  at  hand.  "  It  might  be  a  helpful, 
happy  thing  for  both,  if  poor  David  only  could  forget." 

He  had  time  for  no  more  castle-building,  for  a  startled 
11* 


250 


WOBK. 


robin  flew  away  with  a  shrill  chirp,  and  Christie  looked 
up. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  so  glad  !  "  she  said,  rising  quickly.  "  I  was 
picking  a  special  box  for  you,  and  now  you  can  have  a 
feast  beside,  just  as  you  like  it,  fresh  from  the  vines. 
Sit  here,  please,  and  I  'U  hull  faster  than  you  can  eat." 

"  This  is  luxury  ! "  and  Mr.  Power  sat  down  on  the 
three-legged  stool  offered  him,  witli  a  rhubarb  leaf  on 
his  knee  which  Christie  kept  supplying  with  delicious 
mouthfuls. 


Mr.  Power  and  Christie  in  the  Strawberry  Bed. 


IN  THE  STRAWBERRY  BED.  251 

"  "Well,  and  how  goes  it  ?  Are  we  still  happy  arid  con- 
tented here  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  born  again  ;  as  if  this  was 
a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth,  and  every  tliino-  was 
as  it  should  be,"  answered  Christie,  with  a  look  of  per- 
fect satisfaction  in  her  face. 

"  That's  a  pleasant  hearing.  Mrs.  Sterling  has  been 
praising  you,  but  I  wanted  to  be  sure  you  were  as  satis- 
fied as  she.  And  how  does  David  wear  ?  well,  I  hope." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  is  very  good  to  me,  and  is  teaching  me 
to  be  a  gardener,  so  that  I  needn't  kill  myself  with  sew- 
ing any  more.  Much  of  this  is  fine  work  for  women, 
and  so  healthy.  Don't  I  look  a  different  creature  from 
the  ghost  that  came  here  three  or  four  months  ago  ?  " 
and  she  turned  her  face  for  inspection  like  a  child. 

"  Yes,  David  is  a  good  gardener.  I  often  send  my 
sort  of  plants  here,  and  he  always  makes  them  grow 
and  blossom  sooner  or  later,"  answered  Mr.  Power,  re- 
garding her  like  a  beneficent  genie  on  a  three-legged 
Btool. 

"  You  are  the  fresh  air,  and  Mrs.  Sterling  is  the  quiet 
sunshine  that  does  the  work,  I  fancy.  David  only  digs 
about  the  roots." 

"  Thank  you  for  my  share  of  the  compliment ;  but 
why  say  *only  digs'?  That  is  a  most  important  part 
of  the  work  :   I  'm  afraid  you  don't  appreciate  David." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do  ;  but  he  rather  aggravates  me  some- 
times," said  Christie,  laughing,  as  she  put  a  particularly 
big  berry  in  the  green  plate  to  atone  for  her  frankness. 

"  How  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Power,  interested  in  these  little 
revelations. 

"  Well,  he  woitt  be  ambitious.   I  try  to  stir  him  up, 


252  WORK. 

for  he  has  talents ;  I  've  found  that  out  :  but  he  won't 
seem  to  care  for  any  thing  but  watcliing  over  his  mother, 
reading  his  okl  books,  and  making  flowers  bloom  double 
when  they  ought  to  be  single." 

"  There  are  worse  ambitions  than  those,  Christie.  I 
know  many  a  man  who  would  be  far  better  employed 
in  cherishing  a  sweet  old  woman,  studying  Plato,  and 
doubling  the  beauty  of  a  flower,  than  in  selling  princi- 
ples for  money,  building  up  a  cheap  reputation  that  dies 
with  him,  or  chasing  pleasures  that  turn  to  ashes  in  his 
mouth." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but  isn't  it  natural  for  a  young  man  to 
have  some  personal  aim  or  aspiration  to  live  for  ?  If 
David  was  a  weak  or  dull  man  I  could  understand  it ; 
but  I  seem  to  feel  a  power,  a  possibility  for  something 
higher  and  better  than  any  thing  I  see,  and  this  frets 
me.  He  is  so  good,  I  want  him  to  be  great  also  in 
some  way." 

"  A  wise  man  says,  '  The  essence  of  greatness  is  the 
perception  that  virtue  is  enough.'  Z think  David  one 
of  the  most  ambitious  men  I  ever  knew,  because  at 
thirty  he  has  discovered  this  truth,  and  taken  it  to 
heart.  Many  men  can  be  what  the  world  calls  great : 
very  few  men  are  what  God  calls  good.  This  is  the 
harder  task  to  choose,  yet  the  only  success  that  satis- 
fies, the  only  honor  that  outlives  death.  These  flnth- 
ful  lives,  whether  seen  of  men  or  liidden  in  corners,  are 
the  salvation  of  the  world,  and  few  of  us  fail  to  ac- 
knowledge it  in  the  hours  when  we  are  brought  close 
to  the  heart  of  things,  and  see  a  little  as  God  sees." 

Christie  did  not  speak  for  a  moment :  Mr.  Power's 
voice  had  been  so  grave,  and  his  words  so  earnest  that 


IN  TEE  STRAWBERRY  BED.  253 

she  could  not  answer  liglitly,  but  sat  turning  over  the 
new  thoughts  in  her  mind.  Presently  she  said,  in  a 
penitent  but  not  quite  satisfied  tone : 

"  Of  course  you  are  right,  sir.  I  '11  try  not  to  care  for 
the  outward  and  visible  signs  of  these  hidden  virtues ; 
but  I  'm  afraid  I  still  shall  have  a  hankering  for  the 
worldly  honors  that  are  so  valued  by  most  people." 

"  '  Success  and  glory  are  the  children  of  hard  work 
and  God's  favor,'  according  to  ^schylus,  and  you  will 
find  he  was  right.  David  got  a  heavy  blow  some  years 
ago  as  I  told  you,  I  think ;  and  he  took  it  hard,  but  it 
did  not  spoil  him :  it  made  a  man  of  him ;  and,  if  I  am 
not  much  mistaken,  he  will  yet  do  something  to  be 
proud  of,  though  the  world  may  never  hear  of  it." 

"I  hope  so!"  and  Christie's  face  brightened  at  the 
thought. 

"  Nevertheless  you  look  as  if  you  doubted  it,  O  you 
of  little  faith.  Every  one  has  two  sides  to  his  nature : 
David  has  shown  you  the  least  interesting  one,  and 
you  judge  accordingly.  I  think  he  will  show  you  the 
other  side  some  day,  —  for  you  are  one  of  the  w^onien 
who  win  confidence  without  trying,  —  and  then  you 
will  know  the  real  David.  Don't  expect  too  much,  or 
quarrel  with  the  imperfections  that  make  him  human  ; 
but  take  him  for  wdiat  he  is  worth,  and  help  him  if  you 
can  to  make  his  life  a  brave  and  good  one." 

"  I  will,  sir,"  answered  Christie  so  meekly  that  Mr. 
Power  laughed  ;  for  this  confessional  in  the  strawberry 
bed  amused  him  very  much. 

"  You  are  a  hero-worshipper,  my  dear;  and  if  people 
don't  come  up  to  the  mark  you  are  so  disappointed  that 
you  fail  to  see  the  fine  reality  which  remains  when  the 


254  WORK. 

pretty  romance  ends.  Saints  walk  about  the  world  to- 
day as  much  as  ever,  but  instead  of  haircloth  and  halos 
they  now  wear"  — 

"  Broadcloth  and  wide-brimmed  hats,"  added  Chris- 
tie, looking  up  as  if  she  had  already  found  a  better 
St.  Thomas  than  any  the  church  ever  canonized. 

He  thanked  her  with  a  smile,  and  went  on  with  a 
glance  toward  the  meadow. 

"And  knights  go  crusading  as  gallantly  as  ever 
against  the  giants  and  the  dragons,  though  you  don't 
discover  it,  because,  instead  of  banner,  lance,  and  shield 
they  carry  "  — 

"Bushel-baskets,  spades,  and  sweet-flag  for  their 
mothers,"  put  in  Christie  again,  as  David  came  up  the 
path  with  the  loam  he  had  been  digging. 

Both  began  to  laugh,  and  he  joined  in  the  merriment 
without  knowing  why,  as  he  put  down  his  load,  took  off 
his  hat,  and  shook  hands  with  his^  honored  guest. 

"What's  the  joke?"  he  asked,  refreshing  himself 
with  the  handful  of  berries  Christie  offered  him. 

"  Don't  tell,"  she  whispered,  lookhig  dismayed  at  the 
idea  of  letting  him  know  what  she  had  said  of  him. 

But  Mr.  Power  answered  tranquilly : 

"  We  were  talking  about  coins,  and  Christie  was  ex- 
pressing her  opinion  of  one  I  showed  her.  The  face 
and  date  she  understands ;  but  the  motto  puzzles  her, 
and  she  has  not  seen  the  reverse  side  yet,  so  does 
not  know  its  value.  She  will  some  day  ;  and  then  she 
will  agree  with  me,  I  think,  that  it  is  sterling  gold." 

The  emphasis  on  the  last  words  enlightened  David : 
his  sunburnt  cheek  reddened,  but  he  only  shook  his 
head,  saying :  "She  will  find  a  brass  farthing  I  'm  afraid, 


IN  THE   STRAWBERRY  BED.  255 

sir,"  and  began  to  crumble  a  handful  of  loam  about  the 
roots  of  a  carnation  that  seemed  to  have  sprung  up  by 
chance  at  the  foot  of  the  apple-tree. 

"  How  did  that  get  there  ?  "  asked  Christie,  with  sud- 
den interest  in  the  flower. 

"  It  dropped  when  I  was  setting  out  the  others,  took 
root,  and  looked  so  pretty  and  comfortable  that  I  left 
it.  These  waifs  sometimes  do  better  than  the  most 
carefully  tended  ones  :  I  only  dig  round  them  a  bit  and 
leave  them  to  sun  and  air." 

Mr.  Power  looked  at  Christie  with  so  much  meaning 
in  his  face  that  it  was  her  turn  to  color  now.  But  with 
feminine  perversity  she  would  not  own  herself  mistaken, 
and  answered  with  eyes  as  full  of  meaning  as  his  o^vn : 

''  I  like  the  single  ones  best :  double-carnations  are 
so  untidy,  all  bursting  out  of  the  calyx  as  if  the  petals 
had  quarrelled  and  could  not  live  together." 

"  The  single  ones  are  seldom  perfect,  and  look  poor 
and  incomplete  with  little  scent  or  beauty,"  said  un- 
conscious David  propping  up  the  thin-leaved  flower, 
that  looked  like  a  pale  sohtary  maiden,  beside  the  great 
crimson  and  white  carnations  near  by,  filling  the  air 
with  spicy  odor. 

"  I  suspect  you  will  change  your  mind  by  and  by, 
Christie,  as  your  taste  improves,  and  you  will  learn  to 
think  the  double  ones  the  handsomest,"  added  Mr. 
Power,  wondering  in  his  benevolent  heart  if  he  would 
ever  be  the  gardener  to  mix  the  colors  of  the  two  hu- 
man plants  before  him. 

"  I  must  go,"  and  David  shouldered  his  basket  as  if 
he  felt  he  might  be  in  the  way. 

»*  So  must  I,  or  they  will  be  waiting  for  me  at  the 


256  WOltK, 

hospital.  Give  me  a  handful  of  flowers,  David :  they 
often  do  the  poor  souls  more  good  than  my  prayers  or 
preaching." 

Tlien  they  went  away,  and  left  Christie  sitting  in  the 
strawberry  bed,  thinking  that  David  looked  less  than 
ever  like  a  hero  with  his  blue  sliirt,  rough  straw  hat, 
and  big  boots;  also  wondering  if  he  icould  ever  show 
her  his  best  side,  and  if  she  would  like  it  when  she 
saw  it. 


CHAPTER   XII. 


ON  the  foui-tli  of  September,  Christie  woke  up,  say- 
ing to  herself :  "  It  is  my  birthclay,  but  no  one 
knows  it,  so  I  shall  get  no  presents.  Ah,  well,  I  'm 
too  old  for  that  no\v,l  suppose ;"  but  she  sighed  as  she 
said  it,  for  well  she  knew  one  never  is  too  old  to  be 
remembered  and  beloved. 

Just  then  the  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Sterling  entered, 
carrying  what  looked  very  like  a  pile  of  snow-flakes  in 
her  arms.  Laying  this  upon  the  bed,  she  kissed  Chris- 
tie, saying  with  a  tone  and  gesture  that  made  the  words 
a  benediction  : 

"A  happy  birthday,  and  God  bless  thee,  my  daughter !" 

Before  Christie  could  do  more  than  hug  both  gift  and 
giver,  a  great  bouquet  came  flying  in  at  the  open  win- 
dow, aimed  with  such  skill  that  it  fell  upon  the  bed, 
while  David's  voice  called  out  from  below:  "A  happy 
birthday,  Christie,  and  many  of  them  ! " 

«  How  sweet,  how  kind  of  you,  this  is !  I  didn't  dream 
you  knew  about  to-day,  and  never  thought  of  such'  a 
beautiful  surprise,"  cried  Christie,  touched  and  charmed 
by  this  unexpected  celebration. 

Q 


258    •  WOBK. 

«  Thee  mentioned  it  once  long  ago,  and  we  remem- 
bered. They  are  veiy  liunible  giits,  my  dear ;  but  we 
could  not  let  the  day  pass  without  some  token  of  the 
thanks  we  owe  thee  for  these  months  of  faithful  service 
and  aifectionate  companionship." 

Christie  had  no  answer  to  this  little  address,  and  was 
about  to  cry  as  the  only  adequate  expression  of  her 
feelings,  Avhen  a  hearty  "Hear!  Hear!"  from  below 
made  her  laugh,  and  call  out : 

*'  You  conspirators !  how  dare  you  lay  plots,  and  then 
exult  Over  me  when  I  can't  find  words  to  thank  you  ? 
I  always  did  think  you  were  a  set  of  angels,  and  now 
1  'm  quite  sure  of  it." 

"  Thee  may  be  right  about  Davy,  but  I  am  only  a 
prudent  old  woman,  and  have  taken  much  pleasure 
in  ])rivately  knitting  tliis  light  wrap  to  wear  when  thee 
sits  in  the  porch,  for  the  evenings  will  soon  grow  chilly. 
My  son  did  not  know  what  to  get,  and  finally  decided 
that  flowers  would  suit  thee  best ;  so  he  made  a  bunch 
of  those  thee  loves,  and  would  toss  it  in  as  if  he  was  a 
boy." 

"  I  like  that  way,  and  both  my  presents  suit  me  ex- 
actly," said  Christie,  wrapping  the  fleecy  shawl  about 
her,  and  admiring  the  nosegay  in  which  hei*  quick  eye 
saw  all  her  favorites,  even  to  a  plumy  spray  of  the 
little  wild  asters  which  she  loved  so  much. 

"  Now,  child,  I  will  step  down,  and  see  about  break- 
fjist.  Take  thy  time ;  for  this  is  to  be  a  holiday,  and  we 
mean  to  make  it  a  happy  one  if  we  can." 

AYith  that  the  old  lady  went  away,  and  Christie  soon 
followed,  looking  very  fresh  and  blithe  as  she  ran  down 
smiling  behind  her  great  bouquet.     David  was  in  the 


CHRISTIIPS   GALA.  259 

porch,  training  up  the  morning-glories  that  bloomed 
late  and  lovely  in  that  sheltered  spot.  He  turned  as 
she  approached,  held  out  his  hand,  and  bent  a  little  as 
if  he  was  moved  to  add  a  tenderer  greeting.  But  he 
did  not,  only  held  the  hand  she  gave  him  for  a  moment, 
as  he  said  with  the  paternal  expression  unusually 
visible : 

"  I  wished  you  many  happy  birth(hiys ;  and,  if  you 
go  on  getting  younger  every  year  like  this,  you  will 
surely  have  them." 

It  was  the  first  compliment  he  had  ever  paid  her,  and 
she  liked  it,  though  she  shook  her  head  as  if  disclaim- 
ing it,  and  answered  brightly  : 

"  I  used  to  think  many  years  would  be  burdensome, 
and  just  before  I  came  here  I  felt  as  if  I  could  not  bear 
another  one.  But  now  I  like  to  live,  and  hope  I  shall 
a  long,  long  time." 

"  I  'm  glad  of  that ;  and  how  do  you  mean  to  spend 
these  long  years  of  yours?"  asked  David,  brushing 
back  the  lock  of  hair  that  was  always  falling  into  his 
eyes,  as  if  he  wanted  to  see  more  clearly  the  hopeful 
f:\ce  before  him. 

"  In  doing  what  your  morning-glories  do,  —  climb  up 
as  far  and  as  fast  as  I  can  before  the  frost  comes,"  an- 
swered Christie,  looking  at  the  pretty  symbols  she  had 
chosen. 

"  You  have  got  on  a  good  way  already  then,"  began 
David,  smiling  at  her  fancy. 

"  Oh  no,  I  haven't ! "  she  said  quickly.  "  I  'm  only 
about  halfway  up.  See  here :  I  '11  tell  how  it  is ; "  and, 
pointing  to  the  different  parts  of  the  flowery  wall,  she 
added  in  her  earnest  way :    "  I  've  watched  these  grow, 


260  WORK. 

and  had  many  thoughts  about  them,  as  I  sit  sewing  in 
the  porch.  These  variegated  ones  down  low  are  my 
childish  fancies ;  most  of  them  gone  to  seed  you  see. 
These  lovely  blue  ones  of  all  shades  are  my  girlisli 
dreams  and  hopes  and  plans.  Poor  things !  some  are 
dead,  some  torn  by  the  wind,  and  only  a  thw  pale  ones 
left  quite  perfect.  Here  you  observe  they  grow  sombre 
with  a  tinge  of  purple ;  that  means  pain  and  gloom, 
and  there  is  where  I  was  when  I  came  here.  Now 
they  turn  from  those  sad  colors  to  crimson,  rose,  and 
soft  pink.  That 's  the  happiness  and  health  I  found  here. 
You  and  your  dear  mother  planted  them,  and  you  see 
how  strong  and  bright  they  are." 

She  lifted  up  her  hand,  and  gathering  one  of  the 
great  rosy  cups  offered  it  to  him,  as  if  it  were  brimful 
of  the  thanks  she  could  not  utter.  He  comprehended, 
took  it  with  a  quiet  "Thank  you,"  and  stood  looking 
at  it  for  a  moment,  as  if  her  little  compliment  pleased 
him  very  much. 

"And  these?"  he  said  presently,  pointing  to  the 
delicate  violet  bells  that  grew  next  the  crimson  ones. 

The  color  deepened  a  shade  in  Christie's  cheek,  but 
she  went  on  with  no  other  sign  of  shyness ;  for  with 
David  she  always  spoke  out  frankly,  because  she  could 
not  help  it. 

"  Those  mean  love  to  me,  not  passion  :  the  deep  red 
ones  half  hidden  under  the  leaves  mean  that.  My 
violet  flowers  are  the  best  and  purest  love  we  can 
know :  the  sort  that  makes  life  beautiful  and  lasts  for 
ever.  The  white  ones  that  come  next  are  tinged  with 
that  soft  color  here  and  there,  and  they  mean  holiness. 
I  know  there  will   be  love  in  heaven ;   so,  whether  I 


CHRISTIE'S   GALA.  261 

ever  find  it  here  or  not,  I  am  sure  I  shall  not  miss  it 
wholly." 

Then,  as  if  glad  to  leave  the  theme  that,  never  can 
be  touched  without  reverent  emotion  by  a  true  woman, 
she  added,  looking  up  to  where  a  few  spotless  blossoms 
shone  like  silver  in  the  light : 

"  Far  away  there  in  the  sunshine  are  my  highest 
aspirations.  I  cannot  reach  them  :  but  I  can  look  up, 
and  see  their  beauty  ;  believe  in  them,  and  try  to  follow 
where  they  lead ;  remember  that  frost  comes  latest  to 
those  that  bloom  the  highest;  and  keep  my  beautiful 
white  flowers  as  long  as  I  can." 

"  The  mush  is  ready ;  come  to  breakfast,  children," 
called  Mrs.  Sterling,  as  she  crossed  the  hall  with  a  tea- 
pot in  her  hand. 

Christie's  face  fell,  then  she  exclaimed  laughing: 
"That's  always  the  way ;  I  never  take  a  poetic  flight 
but  in  comes  the  mush,  and  spoils  it  all." 

"Not  a  bit;  and  that's  where  women  are  mistaken. 
Souls  and  bodies  should  go  on  together ;  and  you  will 
find  that  a  hearty  breakfast  won't  spoil  the  little  hymn 
the  morning-glories  sung;"  and  David  set  her  a  good 
example  by  eating  two  bowls  of  hasty-pudding  and 
milk,  with  the  lovely  flower  in  his  button-hole. 

"  Now,  what  are  we  to  do  next  ?  "  asked  Christie, 
when  the  usual  morning  work  was  finished. 

"  In  about  ten  minutes  thee  will  see,  I  think,"  an- 
swered ^Irs.  Sterling,  glancing  at  the  clock,  and  smiling 
at  the  bright  expectant  look  in  the  younger  woman's 
eyes. 

She  did  see ;  for  in  less  than  ten  minutes  the  rumble 
of  an  omnibus  was  heard,  a  sound  of  many  voices,  and 


262  WORK. 

tlien  the  whole  Wilkins  brood  came  whooping  down 
the  lane.  It  was  good  to  see  Ma  Wilkins  jog  ponder- 
ously after  in  full  state  and  festival  array ;  her  bonnet 
trembling  with  bows,  red  roses  all  over  her  gown,  and 
a  parasol  of  uncommon  brilliancy  brandished  joyfully 
in  her  hand.  It  was  better  still  to  see  her  hug  Christie, 
when  the  latter  emerged,  flushed  and  breathless,  from 
the  chaos  of  arms,  legs,  and  chubby  faces  in  which  she 
was  lost  for  several  tumultuous  moments ;  and  it  was 
best  of  all  to  see  the  good  woman  place  her  cherished 
"bunnit"  in  the  middle  of  the  parlor  table  as  a  choice 
and  lovely  ornament,  administer  the  family  pocket- 
handkerchief  all  round,  and  then  settle  down  with  a 
hearty : 

"  Wal,  now.  Mis  Sterlin',  you've  no  idee  how  tickled 
we  all  was  when  Mr.  David  came,  and  told  us  you  was 
goin'  to  have  a  galy  here  to-day.  It  was  so  kind  of 
providential,  for  'Lisha  was  invited  out  to  a  day's 
pleasurin',  so  I  could  leave  jest  as  wal  as  not.  The 
childern  's  ben  hankerin'  to  come  the  wust  kind,  and  go 
plummin'  as  they  did  last  month,  though  I  told  'em  ber- 
ries was  gone  weeks  ago.  I  reelly  thought  I  'd  never 
get  'em  here  whole,  they  trained  so  in  that  bus.  Wash 
would  go  on  the  step,  and  kep  fallin'  off";  Gusty's  hat 
blew  out  a  winder ;  them  two  bad  boys  tumbled  round 
loose ;  and  dear  little  Victory  set  like  a  lady,  only  I 
found  she  'd  got  both  feet  in  the  basket  right  atop  of 
the  birthday  cake,  I  made  a  puppose  for  Christie." 

"  It  hasn't  hurt  it  a  bit ;  there  was  a  cloth  over  it, 
and  I  like  it  all  the  better  for  the  marks  of  Totty's 
little  feet,  bless  'em ! "  and  Christie  cuddled  the  cul- 
prit with  one  hand  while  she  revealed   the   damaged 


CHRISTIE'S   GALA.  263 

delicacy  with  the  other,  wondering  inwardly  what  evil 
star  was  always  in  the  ascendant  when  Mrs.  Wilkins 
made  cake. 

"  Now,  my  dear,  you  jest  go  and  have  a  good  frolic 
with  them  childern,  I  'm  a  goin'  to  git  dinner,  and  you 
a  goin'  to  play ;  so  we  don't  want  to  see  no  more  of 
you  till  the  bell  rings,"  said  Mrs.  Wilkins  pinning  up 
her  gown,  and  "shooing"  lier  brood  out  of  the  room, 
which  they  entirely  filled. 

Catching  up  her  hat  Christie  obeyed,  feeling  as  much 
like  a  child  as  any  of  the  excited  six.  The  revels 
that  followed  no  pen  can  justly  record,  for  Goths  and 
Vandals  on  the  rampage  but  feebly  describes  the  youth- 
ful Wilkinses  when  their  spirits  effervesced  after  a 
month's  bottling  up  in  close  home  quarters. 

David  locked  the  greenhouse  door  the  instant  he 
saw  them ;  and  pervaded  the  premises  generally  like 
a  most  affable  but  very  watchful  policeman,  for  the  rav- 
ages those  innocents  committed  much  afiiicted  him. 
Yet  he  never  had  the  heart  to  say  a  word  of  reproof, 
when  he  saw  their  raptures  over  dandelions,  the  relish 
with  which  they  devoured  fruit,  and  the  good  it  did  the 
little  souls  and  bodies  to  enjoy  unlimited  liberty,  green 
grass,  and  country  air,  even  for  a  day. 

Christie  usually  got  them  into  the  big  meadow  as 
soon  as  possible,  and  there  let  them  gambol  at  will ; 
while  she  sat  on  the  broken  bough  of  an  apple-tree, 
and  watched  her  flock  like  an  old-fashioned  shepherdess. 
To-day  she  did  so ;  and  when  the  children  were  happily 
sailing  boats,  tearing  to  and  fro  like  wild  colts,  or  dis- 
covering the  rustic  treasures  Nurse  Nature  lays  ready 
to  gladden  little  hearts  and  hands,  Christie  sat  idly 


264 


WORK. 


making  a  garland  of  green  brakes,  and  ruddy  sumach 
leaves  ripened  before  the  early  frosts  had  come. 

David  saw  her  there,  and,  feeling  that  he  might  come 
off  guard  for  a  time,  went  strolling  down  to  lean  u])on 
the  wall,  and  chat  in  the  friendly  fashion  that  had  natu- 
rally grown  up  between  these  fellow-workers.  She  was 
waiting  for  the  new  supply  of  ferns  little  Adelaide  was 
getting  for  her  by  the  wall  ;  and  while  she  waited  she 


A  Friendly  Chat, 


CHRISTIE'S   GALA.  265 

sat  resting  her  check  upon  licr  hand,  and  smilir.g  to 
herself,  as  if  she  saw  some  pleasant  picture  in  the  green 
grass  at  her  feet. 

"  Now  I  wonder  what  she  's  thinking  about,"  said 
David's  voice  close  by,  and  Christie  straightway  an- 
swered : 

"  Philip  Fletcher." 

"  And  who  is  he  ?  "  asked  David,  settling  his  ell>ow 
in  a  comfortable  niche  between  the  mossy  stones,  so 
that  he  could  "  lean  and  loaf"  at  his  ease. 

"  The  brother  of  the  lady  whose  cliildren  I  took  care 
of;"  and  Christie  wished  she  had  thought  before  she 
answered  that  first  question,  for  in  telling  her  adven- 
tures at  different  times  she  had  omitted  all  mention  of 
this  gentleman. 

"  Tell  about  him,  as  the  children  say :  your  exi)eri- 
ences  are  always  interesting,  and  you  look  as  if  this 
man  was  uncommonly  entertaining  in  some  way,"  said 
David,  indolently  inclined  to  be  amused. 

"  Oh,  dear  no,  not  at  all  entertaining !  invalids  seldom 
are,  and  he  was  sick  and  lazy,  conceited  and  very  cross 
sometimes."  Christie's  heart  rather  smote  her  as  she  said 
this,  remembering  the  last  look  poor  Fletcher  gave  her. 

"  A  nice  man  to  be  sure ;  but  I  don't  see  any  thing  to 
smile  about,"  persisted  David,  who  liked  reasons  for 
things ;  a  masculine  trait  often  very  trying  to  feminine 
minds. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  a  little  quarrel  we  once  had.  He 
found  out  that  I  had  been  an  actress ;  for  I  basely  did 
not  mention  that  fiict  when  I  took  the  place,  and  so  got 
properly  punished  for  my  deceit.  I  thought  he  'd  tell 
his  sister  of  course,  so  I  did  it  myself,  and  retired  from 
12 


2QQ  WORK. 

the  situation  as  much  disgusted  with  Christie  Devon  as 
you  are." 

"  Perhaps  I  ought  to  be,  but  I  don't  find  that  I  am. 
Do  you  know  I  think  that  old  Fletcher  was  a  sneak  ?  " 
and  Da^■id  looked  as  if  he  would  rather  like  to  mention 
his  opinion  to  that  gentleman. 

"  He  i)robably  thought  he  was  doing  his  duty  to  the 
children :  few  people  would  approve  of  an  actress  for  a 
teacher  you  know.  He  had  seen  me  play,  and  remem- 
bered it  all  of  a  sudden,  and  told  me  of  it :  that  was  the 
way  it  came  about,"  said  Christie  hastily,  feeling  that 
she  must  get  out  of  the  scrape  as  soon  as  jDossible,  or 
she  would  be  driven  to  tell  every  thing  in  justice  to  Mr. 
Fletcher. 

"  I  should  like  to  -see  you  act." 

"You  a  Quaker,  and  express  such  a  worldly  and 
dreadful  wish  ?  "  cried  Christie,  much  amused,  and  very 
grateful  that  his  thoughts  had  taken  a  new  direction. 

"  I  'm  not,  and  never  have  been.  Mother  married  out 
of  the  sect,  and,  though  she  keeps  many  of  her  old  ways, 
always  left  me  free  to  believe  what  I  chose.  I  wear 
drab  because  I  like  it,  and  say  '  thee '  to  her  because 
she  likes  it,  and  it  is  j^leasant  to  have  a  little  word  all 
our  own.  I  've  been  to  theatres,  but  I  don't  care  much 
for  them.  Perhaps  I  should  if  I  'd  had  Fletcher's  luck 
in  seeing  you  play." 

"You  didn't  lose  much:  I  was  not  a  good  actress; 
though  now  and  then  when  I  liked  ray  part  I  did  pretty 
well  they  said,"  answered  Christie,  modestly. 

"  Why  didn't  you  go  back  after  the  accident  ?  "  asked 
David,  who  had  heard  that  part  of  the  story. 

"  I  felt  that  it  was  bad  for  me,  and  so  retired  to  pri- 
vate life." 


CHRISTIE'S   GALA,  267 

"  Do  you  ever  regret  it  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  when  the  restless  fit  is  on  me :  but  not 
so  often  now  as  I  used  to  do ;  for  on  the  whole  I  'd 
rather  be  a  woman  than  act  a  queen." 

"  Good  !  "  said  David,  and  then  added  persuasively  : 
"  But  you  will  ])lay  for  me  some  time :  won't  you  ?  I  've 
a  curious  desire  to  see  you  do  it." 

"  Perhaps  I  '11  try,"  replied  Christie,  flattered  by  his 
interest,  and  not  unwilling  to  display  her  little  talent. 

"Who  are  you  making  that  for?  it's  very  pretty," 
asked  David,  who  seemed  to  be  in  an  inquiring  frame 
of  mind  that  day. 

"  Any  one  w^ho  wants  it.  I  only  do  it  for  the  pleasure : 
I  always  liked  pretty  things ;  but,  since  I  have  lived 
among  flowers  and  natural  people,  I  seem  to  care  more 
than  ever  for  beauty  of  all  kinds,  and  love  to  make  it  if  I 
can  without  stopping  for  any  reason  but  the  satisfaction." 

"  '  Tell  them,  dear,  tliat  if  eyes  were  made  for  seeing, 
" '  Then  beauty  is  its  own  excuse  for  being,'  " 

observed  David,  who  had  a  weakness  for  poetry,  and, 
finding  she  liked  his  sort,  quoted  to  Christie  almost  as 
freely  as  to  himself. 

"Exactly,  so  look  at  that  and  enjoy  it,"  and  she 
pointed  to  the  child  standing  knee-deep  in  graceful 
ferns,  looking  as  if  she  grew  there,  a  living  buttercup, 
with  her  buff*  frock  off"  at  one  plump  shoulder  and  her 
bright  hair  shining  in  the  sun. 

Before  David  could  express  his  admiration,  the  little 
picture  was  spoilt ;  for  Christie  called  out,  "  Come,  Yic, 
brin<T  me  some  more  pretties ! "  startling  baby  so  that 
she  lost  her  balance,  and  disappeared  with  a  muffled 


268  WORK. 

cry,  leaving  nothing  to  be  seen  but  a  pair  of  small  con- 
vulsive shoes,  soles  uppermost,  among  the  brakes.  Da- 
vid took  a  leap,  reversed  Vic,  and  then  let  her  comi)ose 
her  little  feelings  by  sticking  bits  of  green  in  all  the 
button-holes  of  his  coat,  as  he  sat  on  the  wall  while  she 
stood  beside  him  in  the  safe  shelter  of  his  arm. 

"You  are  very  like  an  Englishman,"  said  Chiistie, 
after  watching  the  pair  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  How  do  you  know?"  asked  David,  looking  surprised. 

"There  were  several  in  our  company,  and  I  found 
them  very  much  alike.  Blunt  and  honest,  domestic  and 
kind ;  hard  to  get  at,  but  true  as  steel  when  once  won ; 
not  so  brilliant  and  original  as  Americans,  perhaps,  but 
more  solid  and  steadl^ist.  On  the  whole,  I  think  them 
the  manliest  men  in  the  world,"  answered  Christie,  in 
the  decided  way  young  people  have  of  expressing  their 
opinions. 

"  You  speak  as  if  you  had  known  and  studied  a  great 
variety  of  men,"  said  David,  feeling  that  he  need  not 
resent  the  comparison  she  had  made. 

"I  have,  and  it  has  done  me  good.  Women  who 
stand  alone  in  the  world,  and  have  their  own  way  to 
make,  have  a  better  chance  to  know  men  truly  than 
those  who  sit  safe  at  home  and  only  see  one  side  of 
mankind.  We  lose  something;  but  I  think  we  gain  a 
great  deal  that  is  more  valuable  than  admiration,  flat- 
tery, and  the  superficial  service  most  men  give  to  our 
sex.  Some  one  says,  *•  Companionship  teaches  men  and 
women  to  know,  judge,  and  treat  one  another  justly.' 
I  believe  it;  for  we  who  are  compelled  to  be  fellow- 
workers  with  men  understand  and  value  them  more 
truly  than  many  a  belle  who  has  a  dozen  lovers  sigh- 


CHRISTIE'S   GALA.  269 

ing  at  licr  ibet.  I  see  their  faults  and  follies ;  but  I  also 
see  so  much  to  honor,  love,  and  trust,  that  I  feel  as  if 
the  world  was  full  of  brothers.  Yes,  as  a  general  rule, 
men  have  been  kinder  to  me  than  women ;  and  if  I 
wanted  a  staunch  friend  I  'd  choose  a  man,  for  they 
wear  better  than  women,  who  ask  too  much,  and  cannot 
see  that  friendship  lasts  longer  if  a  little  respect  and 
reserve  go  with  the  love  and  confidence." 

Christie  had  spoken  soberly,  with  no  thought  of  flat- 
tery or  effect;  for  the  memory  of  many  kindnesses 
bestowed  on  her  by  many  men,  from  rough  Joe  Butter- 
field  to  Mr.  Power,  gave  warmth  and  emphasis  to  her 
words. 

The  man  sitting  on  the  wall  appreciated  the  compli- 
ment to  his  sex,  and  proved  that  he  deserved  his  share 
of  it  by  taking  it  exactly  as  she  meant  it,  and  saying 
heartily : 

''I  like  that,  Christie,  and  wish  more  women  thought 
and,  spoke  as  you  do." 

"  If  they  had  had  my  experience  they  would,  and  not 
be  ashamed  of  it.  I  am  so-old  now  I  can  say  these  things 
and  not  be  misjudged ;  for  even  some  sensible  people 
think  this  honest  sort  of  fellowship  impossible  if  not  im- 
proper. I  don't,  and  I  never  shall,  so  if  I  can  ever  do 
any  thing  for  you,  David,  forget  that  I  am  a  woman  and 
tell  me  as  freely  as  if  I  was  a  younger  brother." 
"  I  wish  you  were !  " 

"  So  do  I ;  you  'd  make  a  splendid  elder  brother." 
"  No,  a  very  bad  one." 

There  was  a  sudden  shai-pness  in  David's  voice  that 
jaiTed  on  Christie's  ear  and  made  her  look  up  quickly. 
She  only  caught  a  glimjise  of  his  face,  and  saw  that  it 


270  WORK. 

was  strangely  troubled,  as  he  swung  himself  over  the 
wall  with  little  Yic  on  his  arm  and  went  toward  the 
house,  saying  abruptly : 

"  Baby  's  sleepy :  she  must  go  in." 

Christie  sat  some  time  longer,  wondering  what  she 
had  said  to  disturb  him,  and  when  the  bell  rang  went 
in  still  pei-plexed.  But  David  looked  as  usual,  and  the 
only  trace  of  disquiet  was  an  occasional  hasty  shaking 
back  of  the  troublesome  lock,  and  a  slight  knitting  of 
the  brows;  two  tokens,  as  she  had  learned  to  know, 
of  impatience  or  pain. 

She  was  soon  so  absorbed  in  feeding  the  children, 
hungry  and  clamorous  as  young  birds  for  their  food, 
that  she  forgot  every  thing  else.  When  dinner  was 
done  and  cleared  away^  she  devoted  herself  to  Mrs. 
Wilkins  for  an  hour  or  two,  while  Mrs.  Sterling  took 
her  nap,  the  infants  played  riotously  in  the  lane,  and 
David  was  busy  with  orders. 

The  arrival  of  Mr.  Power  drew  every  one  to  the 
porch  to  welcome  him.  As  he  handed  Christie  a  book, 
he  asked  with  a  significant  smile  : 

"  Have  you  found  him  yet  ?  " 

She  glanced  at  the  title  of  the  new  gift,  read  "  Heroes 
and  Hero-worship,"  and  answered  merrily : 

"No,  sir,  but  I'm  looking  hard." 

"  Success  to  your  search,"  and  Mr.  Power  turaed  to 
greet  David,  who  approached. 

"Now,  what  shall  we  play?"  asked  Christie,  as  the 
children  gathered  about  her  demanding  to  be  amused. 

George  Washington  suggested  leap-frog,  and  the 
others  added  equally  impracticable  requests ;  but  Mrs. 
Wilkins  settled  the  matter  by  saying : 


CIiniSTIE'S    GALA.  271 

"Let's  have  some  play-actin',  Christie.  That  used 
to  tickle  the  cliiiaren  amaziu'ly,  and  I  was  never  tired 
of  hearin'  them  pieces,  specially  the  solemn  ones." 

"Yes,  yes!  do  the  funny  girl  with  the  baby,  and  the 
old  woman,  and  the  lady  that  took  pison  and  had  fits  ! " 
shouted  the  children,  charmed  with  the  idea. 

Christie  felt  ready  for  any  thing  just  then,  and  gave 
them  Tilly  Slowboy,  Miss  Miggs,  and  Mrs.  Gummage, 
in  her  best  style,  while  the  young  folks  rolled  on  t1ie 
grass  in  ecstasies,  and  Mrs.  Wilkins  laughed  till  she 
cried. 

"  Xow  a  touch  of  tragedy !  "  said  Mr.  Power,  who  sat 
under  the  elm,  with  David  leaning  on  the  back  of  his 
chair,  both  applauding  heartily. 

"You  insatiable  people!  do  you  expect  me  to  give 
you  low  comedy  and  heavy  tragedy  all  alone  ?  I  'ni 
equal  to  melodrama  I  think,  and  I  '11  give  you  Miss  St. 
Clair  as  Juliet,  if  you  w^ait  a  moment." 

Christie  stepped  into  the  house,  and  soon  reappeared 
with  a  white  table-cloth  draped  about  her,  two  dishev- 
elled locks  of  hair  on  her  shoulders,  and   the  vinegar 
cruet  in  her  hand,  that  being  the  first  bottle  she  could 
find.     She  meant  to  burlesque  the  poison  scene,  and 
began  in  the  usual  ranting  way;  but  she  soon  forgot  St. 
Clair  m  poor  Juliet,  and  did  it  as  she  had  often  longed 
to  do  it,  with  all  the  power  and  passion  she  possess^ed. 
Very  faulty  was  her  rendering,  but  the  earnestness  she 
put  mto  It  made  it  most  effective  to  her  uncritical  audi- 
ence, who  "  brought   down   the   house,''  when  she  fell 
upon  the  grass  with  her  best  stage  drop,  and  lay  there 
gettmg  her  breath  after   the    mouthful  of  vinegar  she 
had  taken  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment. 


272  WOIiK. 

She  was  up  again  directly,  and,  inspired  by  tliis 
pu])erb  success,  ran  in  and  jjresently  reappeared  as  Lady 
JNIacbeth  -witli  JNIrs.  Wilkin s's  scarlet  shawl  for  royal 
robes,  and  the  leafy  chaplet  of  the  morning  for  a  crown. 
She  took  the  stage  with  some  difficulty,  for  the  uneven- 
iiess  of  the  turf  imjiaired  the  majesty  of  her  tragic 
stride,  and  fixing  her  eyes  on  an  invisible  Thane  (who 
cut  his  part  shamefully,  and  spoke  in  the  gruffest  of 
gruff  voices)  she  gave  them  the  dagger  scene. 

David  as  the  orchestra,  had  been  performing  a  drum 
Bolo  on  the  back  of  a  chair  with  two  of  the  com-cobs 
Victoria  had  been  building  houses  with  ;  but,  when 
Lady  Macbeth  said,  "  Give  9ne  the  daggers,"  Christie 
jjlucked  the  cobs  suddenly  from  his  hands,  looking  so 
jfiercely  scornful,  and  lowering  upon  him  so  wrathfully 
with  her  corked  brows  that  he  ejaculated  an  involun- 
tary, "  Bless  me !  "  as  he  stepped  back  quite  daunted. 

Being  in  the  spirit  of  her  part,  Christie  closed  with 
the  sleep-walking  scene,  using  the  table-cloth  again, 
while  a  towel  composed  the  tragic  nightcap  of  her 
ladyship.  This  Avas  an  imitation,  and  having  a  fine 
model  and  being  a  good  mimic,  she  did  well ;  for  the 
children  sat  staring  with  round  eyes,  the  gentlemen 
watched  the  woful  fiice  and  gestures  intently,  and 
Mrs.  Wilkins  took  a  long  breath  at  the  end,  exclaim- 
ing :  "  I  never  did  see  the  beat  of  that  for  gastliness ! 
My  sister  Clarissy  used  to  walk  in  her  sleep,  but  she 
"warn't  half  so  kind  of  dreadful." 

"  If  she  had  had  the  murder  of  a  few  fiiends  on  her 
conscience,  I  dare  say  she  would  have  been,"  said  Chris- 
tie, going  in  to  make  herself  tidy. 

"  Well,  how  do  you  like  her  as  an  actress  ?  "  asked 


CHRISTIE'S   GALA.  273 

Mr.  Power  of  David,  who  stood  looking,  as  if  he  still 
saw  and  heard  the  haunted  lady. 

"Very  much  ;  but  better  as  a  woman.  I'd  no  idea 
she  had  it  in  her,"  answered  David,  in  a  wonder-stricken 
tone. 

"  Plenty  of  tragedy  and  comedy  m  all  of  us,"  began 
Mr.  Power  ;  but  David  said  hastily : 

"  Yes,  but  few  of  us  have  passion  and  imagination 
enough  to  act  Shakspeare  in  that  way." 

"  Very  true  :  Christie  herself  could  not  give  a  whole 
character  in  that  style,  and  would  not  think  of  trying." 

"/think  she  could;  and  I'd  like  to  see  her  try  it," 
said  David,  much  impressed  by  the  dramatic  ability 
which  Christie's  usual  quietude  had  most  effectually 
hidden. 

He  was  still  thinking  about  it,  when  she  came  out 
again.  Mr.  Power  beckoned  to  her,  saying,  as  she 
came  and  stood  before  him,  flushed  and  kindled  with 
her  efforts: 

"  Now,  you  must  give  me  a  bit  from  the  'Merchant  of 
Venice.'  Portia  is  a  favorite  character  of  mine,  and  I 
want  to  see  if  you  can  do  any  thing  with  it." 

"  No,  sir,  I  cannot.  I  used  to  study  it,  but  it  was 
too  sober  to  suit  me.  I  am  not  a  judicial  woman,  so  I 
gave  it  up,"  answered  Christie,  much  flattered  by  his 
request,  and  amused  at  the  respectful  way  in  which 
David  looked  at  her.  Then,  as  if  it  just  occun-ed  to 
her,  she  added,  "  I  remember  one  little  speecli  that  I 
can  say  to  you,  sir,  with  great  truth,  and  I  will,  since 
you  like  that  play." 

Still  standing  before  him,  she  bent  her  head  a  little, 
and  with  a  graceful  gesture  of  the  hands,  as  if  offering 
12*  K 


274  woiiK. 

something,  she  delivered  with  heartfelt  emphasis  the 
first  part  of  Portia's  pretty  speech  to  her  fortunate 
suitor : 

"  You  see  me,  Lord  Bassanio,  where  I  stand, 
Such  as  I  am  :  though,  for  myself  alone, 
I  would  not  be  ambitious  in  my  wish, 
To  wish  myself  much  better ;  yet  for  you, 
I  would  be  trebled  twenty  times  myself; 
A  thousand  times  more  fair,  ten  thousand  times  more  rich ; 
That,  only  to  stand  high  in  your  account, 
I  might  in  rirtues,  beauties,  lirings,  friends. 
Exceed  account :  but  the  full  sum  of  me 
Is  sum  of  something ;  which,  to  term  in  gross, 
Is  an  unlesson'd  girl,  unschool'd,  unpractis'd  :  — 
Happy  in  this,  she  is  not  yet  so  old 
But  she  may  leam  ;  happier  than  this, 
She  is  not  bred  so  dull  but  she  can  learn  ; 
Happiest  of  aU,  is  that  her  willing  spirit 
Commits  itself  to  yours  to  be  directed. 
As  from  her  lord,  her  governor,  her  king." 

David  applauded  vigorously;  but  Mr.  Power  rose 
silently,  looking  both  touched  and  surprised ;  and,  draw- 
ing Christie's  hand  through  his  arm,  led  her  away  into 
the  garden  for  one  of  the  quiet  talks  that  were  so  much 
to  her. 

When  they  returned,  the  Wilkinses  were  preparing 
to  depart ;  and,  after  repeated  leave-takings,  finally 
got  under  way,  were  packed  into  the  omnibus,  and 
rumbled  ofi"  with  hats,  hands,  and  handkerchiefs  wav- 
ing from  every  window.  Mr.  Power  soon  followed, 
and  peace  returned  to  the  little  house  in  the  lane. 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  Mrs.  Sterling  was  en- 
gaged with  a  neighbor,  who  had  come  to  confide  some 


CHRISTIE'S   GALA.  ^2^1^ 

affliction  to  the  good  lady,  Christie  went  into  the  porcli, 
and  found  David  sitting  on  the  step,  enjoying  the  mel- 
low moonlight  and  the  balmy  air.  As  he  did  not  speak, 
she  sat  down  silently,  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and 
began  to  enjoy  the  beauty  of  the  night  in  her  own  way. 
Presently  she  became  conscious  that  David's  eyes  had 
turned  from  the  moon  to  her  own  face.  He  sat  in  the 
shade,  she  in  the  light,  and  he  was  looking  at  her  with 
the  new  expression  which  amused  her. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  You  look  as  if  you  never  saw 
me  before,"  she  said,  smiling. 

"I  feel  as  if  I  never  had,"  he  answered,  still  regard- 
ing her  as  if  she  had  been  a  picture. 

"What  do  I  look  like?" 

"  A  peaceful,  pious  nun,  just  now." 

"  Oh !  that  is  owing  to  my  pretty  shawl.  I  put  it  on 
in  honor  of  the  day,  though  it  is  a  trifle  warm,  I  con- 
fess." And  Christie  stroked  the  soft  folds  about  her 
shoulders,  and  settled  the  corner  that  lay  lightly  on  her 
hair.  "  I  do  feel  peaceful  to-night,  but  not  pious.  I 
am  afraid  I  never  shall  do  that,"  she  added  soberly. 

"Why  not?" 

"  Well,  it  does  not  seem  to  be  my  nature,  and  I 
don't  know  how  to  change  it.  I  want  something  to 
keep  me  steady,  but  I  can't  find  it.  So  I  whiffle.  a\)out 
this  way  and  that,  and  sometimes  think  I  am  a  most 
degenerate  creature." 

"  That  is  only  human  nature,  so  don't  be  troubled. 
We  are  all  compasses  pointing  due  north.  We  get 
shaken  often,  and  the  needle  varies  in  spite  of  us ;  but 
the  minute  we  are  quiet,  it  points  right,  and  we  have 
only  to  follow  it." 


2T6  WOBK. 

"  The  keeping  quiet  is  just  what  I  cannot  do.  Your 
jnother  shows  me  how  lovely  it  is,  and  I  try  to  imitate 
it ;  but  this  restless  soul  of  mine  will  ask  questions  and 
doubt  and  fear,  and  worry  me  in  many  ways.  What 
shall  I  do  to  keep  it  still  ?  "  asked  Christie,  smiling,  yet 
earnest. 

"  Let  it  alone :  you  cannot  force  these  things,  and 
the  best  way  is  to  wait  till  the  attraction  is  strong 
enough  to  keep  the  needle  steady.  Some  people  get 
their  ballast  slowly,  some  don't  need  much,  and  some 
have  to  work  hard  for  theirs." 

"  Did  you  ?  "  asked  Christie  ;  for  David's  voice  fell  a 
little,  as  he  uttered  the  last  words. 

"  I  have  not  got  much  yet." 

"  I  think  you  have.  Why,  David,  you  are  always 
cheerful  and  contented,  good  and  generous.  If  that 
is  not  true  piety,  what  is  ?  " 

"  You  are  very  much  deceived,  and  I  am  soiTy  for 
it,"  said  David,  with  the  impatient  gesture  of  the  head, 
and  a  troubled  look. 

"Prove  it !  "  And  Christie  looked  at  him  with  such 
sincere  respect  and  regard,  that  his  honest  nature 
would  not  let  him  accept  it,  though  it  gratified  him 
much. 

He  made  no  answer  for  a  minute.  Then  he  said 
slowly,  as  if  feeling  a  modest  man's  hesitation  to  speak 
of  himself,  yet  urged  to  it  by  some  irresistible  im- 
pulse : 

"  I  will  prove  it  if  you  won't  mind  the  unavoidable 
egotism ;  for  I  cannot  let  you  think  me  so  much  better 
than  I  am.  Outwardly  I  seem  to  you  *  cheerful,  con- 
tented, generous,  and  good.'     In  reality  I  am  sad,  dis- 


CmUSTIE'S   GALA.  277 

satisfied,  bad,  and  selfish :  see  if  I  'm  not.  I  often  tire 
of  this  quiet  Yii'e,  hate  my  work,  and  long  to  break 
away,  and  follow  my  own  wild  and  wilful  impulses,  no 
matter  where  they  lead.  Nothing  keeps  me  at  such 
times  but  my  mother  and  God's  patience." 

David  began  quietly  ;  but  the  latter  part  of  this,  con- 
fession was  made  with  a  sudden  impetuosity  that  startled 
Christie,  so  utterly  unlike  his  usual  self-control  was  it. 
She  could  only  look  at  him  with  the  surprise  she  felt. 
His  face  was  in  the  shadow ;  but  she  saw  that  it  was 
flushed,  his  eyes  excited,  and  in  his  voice  she  heard  an 
undertone  that  made  it  sternly  self-accusing. 

"I  am  not  a  hypocrite,"  he  went  on  rapidly,  as  if 
driven  to  speak  in  spite  of  himself  "  I  try  to  be  what  I 
seem,  but  it  is  too  hard  sometimes  and  I  despair.  Esj^e- 
cially  hard  is  it  to  feel  that  I  have  learned  to  feign 
happiness  so  well  that  others  are  entirely  deceived.  Mr. 
Power  and  mother  know  me  as  I  am :  other  friends  I 
have  not,  unless  you  will  let  me  call  you  one.  Whether 
you  do  or  not  after  this,  I  respect  you  too  much  to  let 
yon  delude  yourself  about  my  vu-tues,  so  I  tell  you  the 
truth  and  abide  the  consequences." 

He  looked  up  at  her  as  he  paused,  with  a  curious 
mixture  of  pride  and  humility  in  his  face,  and  squared 
his  broad  shoulders  as  if  he  had  thrown  off  a  burden 
that  had  much  oppressed  him. 

Christie  offered  him  her  hand,  saying  in  a  tone  that 
did  his  heart  good:  "The  consequences  are  that  I 
respect,  admire,  and  trust  you  more  than  ever,  and  feel 
proud  to  be  your  friend." 

David  gave  the  hand  a  strong  and  grateful  pressure, 
said,  "  Thank  you,"  in  a  moved  tone,  and  then  leaned 


278  WOBK. 

back  into  the  shadow,  as  if  trying  to  recover  from  this 
unusual  burst  of  confidence,  won  from  him  by  the  sofl 
magic  of  time,  phice,  and  companionship). 

Fearing  he  would  regret  the  glimpse  he  had  given 
her,  and  anxious  to  show  how  much  she  liked  it,  Chris- 
tie talked  on  to  give  him  time  to  regain  composure. 

"  I  always  thought  in  reading  the  lives  of  saints  or 
good  men  of  any  time,  that  their  struggles  were  the 
most  interesting  and  helpful  things  recorded.  Human 
imperfection  only  seems  to  make  real  piety  more  possi- 
ble, and  to  me  more  beautiful ;  for  where  others  have 
conquered  I  can  conquer,  having  suffered  as  they  sufier, 
and  seen  their  hard-won  success.  That  is  the  sort  of 
religion  I  want ;  something  to  hold  by,  live  in,  and 
enjoy,  if  I  can  only  get  it." 

*'  I  know  you  will."  He  said  it  heartily,  and  seemed 
quite  calm  again ;  so  Christie  obeyed  the  instinct  which 
told  her  that  questions  would  be  good  for  David,  and 
that  he  was  in  the  mood  for  answering  them. 

"  May  I  ask  you  something,"  she  began  a  little  timidly. 

"  Any  thing,  Christie,"  he  answered  instantly. 

"  That  is  a  rash  promise  :  I  am  a  woman,  and  there- 
fore curious ;  what  shall  you  do  if  I  take  advantage  of 
the  privilege  ?  " 

«  Try  and  see." 

"I  will  be  discreet,  and  only  ask  one  thing,"  she 
replied,  charmed  with  her  success.  "  You  said  just  now 
that  you  had  learned  to  feign  happiness.  I  wish  you 
would  tell  me  how  you  do  it,  for  it  is  such  an  excellent 
imitation  I  shall  be  quite  content  A^-ith  it  till  I  can  learn 
the  genuine  thing." 

David  fingered  the   troublesome   forelock   thought- 


CHRISTIBPS   GALA.  279 

fully  for  a  moment,  then  said,  with  something  of  the 
former  impetuosity  coming  back  into  his  voice  and 
manner : 

« I  will  tell  you  all  about  it ;  that 's  the  best  way  :  I 
know  I  shall  some  day  because  I  can't  help  it ;  so  I  may 
as  well  have  done  with  it  now,  since  I  have  begun.  It 
is  not  interesting,  mind  you,  —  only  a  grim  little  history 
of  one  man's  fight  with  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the 
devil :  will  you  have  it?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  answered  Christie,  so  eagerly  that  David 
laughed,  in  spite  of  the  bitter  memories  stirring  at  liis 
heart. 

"So  like  a  woman,  always  ready  to  hear  and  forgive 
sinners,"  he  said,  then  took  a  long  breath,  and  added 
rapidly  : 

"  I  '11  put  it  in  as  few  words  as  possible  and  much 
good  may  it  do  you.  Some  years  ago  I  was  desperately 
miserable  ;  never  mind  why  :  I  dare  say  I  shall  tell  you 
all  about  it  some  day  if  I  go  on  at  this  rate.  Well, 
being  miserable,  as  I  say,  every  thing  looked  black  and 
bad  to  me :  I  hated  all  men,  distrusted  all  women, 
doubted  the  existence  of  God,  and  was  a  forlorn  Avretch 
generally.  Why  I  did  not  go  to  the  devil  I  can't  say : 
I  did  start  once  or  twice ;  but  the  thought  of  that  dear 
old  woman  in  there  sitting  all  alone  and  waiting  for  me 
dragged  me  back,  and  kept  me  here  till  the  first  reck- 
lessness was  over.  People  talk  about  duty  being  sweet ; 
I  have  not  found  it  so,  but  there  it  was :  I  should  have 
been  a  brute  to  shirk  it ;  so  I  took  it  up,  and  held  on 
desperately  till  it  grew  bearable." 

"  It  has  grown  sweet  now,  David,  I  am  sure,"  said 
Christie,  verv  low. 


280  WORK. 

"  No,  not  yet,"  he  answered  with  the  stern  honesty 
that  would  not  let  him  deceive  himself  or  others,  cost 
what  it  might  to  be  true.  "  There  is  a  certain  solid  sat- 
isfaction in  it  that  I  did  not  use  to  find.  It  is  not  a 
mere  dogged  persistence  now,  as  it  once  was,  and  that 
is  a  step  towards  loving  it  perhaps." 

He  spoke  half  to  himself,  and  sat  leaning  his  head 
on  both  hands  propped  on  his  knees,  looking  down  as 
if  the  wei^jht  of  the  old  trouble  bent  his  shoulders 
again. 

"  What  more,  David  ?  "  said  Christie. 

"  Only  this.  When  I  found  I  had  got  to  live,  and 
live  manfully,  I  said  to  myself,  '  I  must  have  help  or  I 
cannot  do  it.'  To  no  living  soul  could  I  tell  my  grief, 
not  even  to  my  mother,  for  she  had  her  own  to  bear : 
no  human  being  could  help  me,  yet  I  must  have  help 
or  give  up  shamefully.  Then  I  did  what  others  do 
when  all  else  fails  to  sustain  them  ;  I  turned  to  God  : 
not  humbly,  not  devoutly  or  trustfully,  but  doubtfully, 
bitterly,  and  rebelliously ;  for  I  said  in  my  despairing 
heart,  '  If  there  is  a  God,  let  Him  help  me,  and  I  will 
believe.'     He  did  help  me,  and  I  kept  my  word." 

"  Oh,  David,  how  ?  "  whispered  Christie  after  a  mo- 
ment's silence,  for  the  last  words  were  solemn  in  their 
earnestness. 

"  The  help  did  not  come  at  once.  No  miracle  answered 
me,  and  I  thought  my  cry  had  not  been  heard.  But  it 
had,  and  slowly  something  like  submission  came  to  me. 
It  was  not  cheerful  nor  pious :  it  was  only  a  dumb,  sad 
sort  of  patience  without  hope  or  faith.  It  was  better 
than  desperation ;  so  I  accepted  it,  and  bore  the  inevi- 
table as  well  as  I  could.     Presently,  courage  seemed  to 


CHRISTIE'S   OALA.  281 

spring  up  again  :  I  was  ashamed  to  be  beaten  in  the  first 
battle,  and  some  sort  of  blind  instinct  made  me  long  to 
break  away  from  the  past  and  begin  again.  My  father 
was  dead ;  mother  left  all  to  me,  and  followed  where  I 
led.  I  sold  the  old  place,  bought  this,  and,  shutting 
out  the  world  as  much  as  I  could,  I  fell  to  work 
as  if  my  life  depended  on  it.  That  was  five  or  six 
years  ago :  and  for  a  long  time  I  delved  away  without 
interest  or  pleasure,  merely  as  a  safety-valve  for  my 
energies,  and  a  means  of  living ;  for  I  gave  up  all  my 
earlier  hopes  and  plans  when  the  trouble  came. 

"  I  did  not  love  my  work ;  but  it  was  good  for  me, 
and  helped  cure  my  sick  soul.  I  never  guessed  why  I  felt 
better,  but  dug  on  with  indifierence  first,  then  felt  pride 
in  my  garden,  then  interest  in  the  plants  I  tended,  and 
by  and  by  I  saw  what  they  had  done  for  me,  and  loved 
them  like  true  fiiends." 

A  broad  woodbine  leaf  had  been  fluttering  against 
David's  head,  as  he  leaned  on  the  slender  pillar  of  the 
porch  where  it  grew.  Now,  as  if  involuntarily,  he  laid 
his  cheek  against  it  with  a  caressing  gesture,  and  sat 
looking  over  the  garden  lying  dewy  and  still  in  the 
moonlight,  with  the  grateful  look  of  a  man  who  has 
learned  the  healing  miracles  of  Nature  and  how  near 
she  is  to  God. 

"  Mr.  Power  helped  you  :  didn't  he  ?  "  said  Christie, 
lonmnc:  to  hear  more. 

"  So  much  !  I  never  can  tell  you  what  he  was  to  me, 
nor  how  I  thank  him.  To  him,  and  to  my  work  I  owe 
the  little  I  have  won  in  the  way  of  strength  and  com- 
fort after  years  of  efibrt.  I  see  now  the  compensation 
that  comes  out  of  trouble,  the  lovely  possibilities  that 


282  WORK. 

exist  for  all  of  us,  and  the  infinite  patience  of  God, 
■wliich  is  to  me  one  of  the  greatest  of  His  divine  attri- 
butes. I  have  only  got  so  far,  but  things  grow  easier  as 
one  goes  on ;  and  if  I  keep  tugging  I  may  yet  be  the 
cheerful,  contented  man  I  seem.  That  is  all,  Christie, 
and  a  longer  story  than  I  meant  to  tell." 

"  Not  long  enough  :  some  time  you  will  tell  me  more 
perhaps,  since  you  have  once  begun.  It  seems  quite 
natural  now,  and  I  am  so  pleased  and  honored  by  your 
confidence.  But  I  cannot  help  wondering  what  made 
you  do  it  all  at  once,"  said  Christie  presently,  afler  they 
had  listened  to  a  whippoorwill,  and  watched  the  flight 
of  a  downy  owl. 

"  I  do  not  think  I  quite  know  myself,  unless  it  was 
because  I  have  been  on  my  good  behavior  since  you 
came,  and,  being  a  humbug,  as  I  tell  you,  was  forced 
to  unmask  in  spite  of  myself  There  are  limits  to 
human  endurance,  and  the  proudest  man  longs  to 
unpack  his  woes  before  a  sympathizing  friend  now 
and  then.  I  have  been  longing  to  do  this  for  some 
time ;  but  I  never  like  to  disturb  mother's  peace,  or 
take  Mr.  Power  from  those  who  need  him  more.  So 
to-day,  when  you  so  sweetly  offered  to  help  me  if 
you  could,  it  quite  went  to  my  heart,  and  seemed  so 
friendly  and  comfortable,  I  could  not  resist  trying  it  to- 
night, when  you  began  about  my  imaginary  virtues. 
That  is  the  truth,  I  believe :  now,  what  shall  we  do 
about  it?" 

"  Just  go  on,  and  do  it  again  whenever  you  feel  like 
it.  I  know  what  loneliness  is,  and  how  telling  worries 
often  cures  them.  I  meant  every  word  I  said  this 
morning,  and  will  prove  it  by  doing  any  thing  in  the 


CHRISTIE'S  OALA.  283 

world  I  can  for  you.  Believe  this,  and  let  me  be  your 
friend." 

They  had  risen,  as  a  stir  within  told  them  the  guest 
wans  going ;  and  as  Christie  spoke  she  was  looking  up 
with  the  moonlight  full  upon  her  face. 

If  there  had  been  any  hidden  purpose  in  her  mind, 
any  false  sentiment,  or  trace  of  coquetry  in  her  manner, 
it  would  have  spoiled  that  hearty  little  speech  of  hers. 

But, in  her  heart  was  nothing  but  a  sincere  desire  to 
prove  gratitude  and  offer  sympathy;  in  her  manner 
the  gentle  frankness  of  a  woman  speaking  to  a  brother ; 
and  in  her  face  the  earnestness  of  one  who  felt  the 
value  of  friendship,  and  did  not  ask  or  give  it  lightly. 

"I  will,"  w^as  David's  emphatic  answer,  and  then,  as 
if  to  seal  the  bargain,  he  stooped  down,  and  gravely 
kissed  her  on  the  forehead. 

Christie  was  a  little  startled,  but  neither  offended  nor 
confused ;  for  there  was  no  love  in  that  quiet  kiss,  —  only 
respect,  affection,  and  much  gratitude ;  an  involuntary 
demonstration  from  the  lonely  man  to  the  true-hearted 
woman  who  had  dared  to  come  and  comfort  him. 

Out  trotted  neighbor  Miller,  and  that  was  the  end  of 
confidences  in  the  porch  ;  but  David  played  melodiously 
on  his  flute  that  night,  and  Christie  fell  asleep  saying 
happily  to  herself: 

"  Now  we  are  all  right,  friends  for  ever,  and  every 
thing  will  go  beautifully." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

WAKIXG    UP. 


EVERY  thing  did  "go  beautifully"  for  a  time; 
so  much  so,  that  Christie  began  to  think  she 
really  had  "  got  religion."  A  delightful  i:)eace  pervaded 
her  soul,  a  new  interest  made  the  dullest  task  agreea- 
ble, and  life  grew  so  inexpressibly  sweet  that  she  felt  as 
if  she  could  forgive  all  her  enemies,  love  her  friends 
more  than  ever,  and  do  any  thing  great,  good,  or 
glorious. 

She  had  known  such  moods  before,  but  they  had 
neA^er  lasted  long,  and  were  not  so  intense  as  this; 
therefore,  she  was  sure  some  blessed  power  had  come 
to  uphold  and  cheer  her.     She  sang  like  a  lark  as  she 


WAKING   UP.  285 

swept  and  dusted;  thought  high  and  happy  thoughts 
among  the  pots  and  kettles,  and,  when  she  sat  sewnig, 
smiled  unconsciously  as  if  some  deep  satisfaction  made 
sunshine  from  within.  Heart  and  soul  seemed  to  wake 
up  and  iTJoice  as  naturally  and  beautifully  as  flowers  in 
the  spring.  A  soft  brightness  shone  in  her  eyes,  a 
fuller  tone  sounded  in  her  voice,  and  her  face  grew 
young  and  blooming  with  the  happiness  that  trans- 
figures all  it  touches. 

«  Christie 's  growing  handsome,"  David  would  say 
to  his  mother,  as  if  she  was  a  flower  in  which  he  took 

pride. 

«  Thee  is  a  good  gardener,  Davy,"  the  old  lady  would 
reply,  and  when  he  was  busy  would  watch  him  with  a 
tender  sort  of  anxiety,  as  if  to  discover  a  like  change  in 

him. 

But  no  alteration  appeared,  except  more  cheerfulness 
and  less  silence ;  for  now  there  was  no  need  to  hide  his 
real  self,  and  all  the  social  virtues  in  him  came  out 
delightfully  after  their  long  solitude. 

In  her  present  uplifted  state,  Christie  could  no  more 
help  regarding  David  as  a  martyr  and  admiring  him 
for  it,  than  she  could  help  mixing  sentiment  with  her 
sympathy.  By  the  light  of  the  late  confessions,  his  life 
and  character  looked  very  different  to  her  now.  His 
apparent  contentment  was  resignation  ;  his  cheerfulness, 
a  manly  contempt  for  complaint;  his  reserve,  the 
modest  reticence  of  one  who,  having  done  a  hard  duty 
well,  desires  no  praise  for  it.  Like  all  enthusiastic  per- 
sons, Christie  had  a  hearty  admiration  for  self-sacrifice 
and  self-control;  and,  while  she  learned  to  see  David's 
virtues,  she  also  exaggerated  them,  and  could  not  do 


286  ,  WORK. 

enough  to  show  the  daily  increasing  esteem  and  respect 
she  felt  for  him,  and  to  atone  for  the  injustice  she  once 
did  him. 

She  grubbed  in  the  garden  and  green-house,  and 
learned  hard  botanical  names  that  she  might  be  able  to 
talk  intelligently  upon  subjects  that  interested  her  com- 
rade. Then,  as  autumn  ended  out-of-door  work,  she 
tried  to  make  home  more  comfortable  and  attractive 
than  ever. 

David's  room  was  her  especial  care  ;  for  now  to  her 
there  was  something  pathetic  in  the  place  and  its  poor 
furaishing.  He  had  fought  many  a  silent  battle  there ; 
won  many  a  secret  victory ;  and  tried  to  cheer  his  soli- 
tude with  the  best  thoughts  the  minds  of  the  bravest, 
wisest  men  could  give  him. 

She  did  not  smile  at  the  dilapidated  idols  now,  but 
touched  them  tenderly,  and  let  no  dust  obscure  their 
well-beloved  faces.  She  set  the  books  in  order  daily, 
taking  many  a  sip  of  refreshment  from  them  by  the 
way,  and  respectfully  regarded  those  in  unknown 
tongues,  full  of  admiration  for  David's  learning.  She 
covered  the  irruptive  sofa  neatly  ;  saw  that  the  little 
vase 'was  always  clear  and  freshly  filled;  cared  for  the 
nursery  in  the  gable-window ;  and  preserved  an  exqui- 
site neatness  everywhere,  which  delighted  the  soul  of  the 
room's  order-loving  occupant. 

She  also  —  alas,  for  romance  !  —  cooked  the  dishes 
David  loved,  and  liked  to  see  him  enjoy  them  with  the 
appetite  which  once  had  shocked  her  so.  She  watched 
over  his  buttons  with  a  vigilance  that  would  have 
softened  the  heart  of  the  crustiest  bachelor :  she  even 
gave  herself  the  complexion  of  a  lemon  by  wearing 


WAKING   UP.  287 

blue,  because  Dayid  liked  the  pretty  contrast  with  liis 
mother's  drabs. 

After  recording  that  last  fact,  it  is  unnecessary  to  ex- 
plain what  was  the  matter  with  Christie.  She  honestly 
thought  she  had  got  religion ;  but  it  was  piety's  twin- 
sister,  who  produced  this  wonderful  revival  in  her  soul ; 
and  though  she  began  in  all  good  faith  she  presently 
discovered  that  she  was 

"Not  the  first  maiden 
Wlio  came  but  for  friendship. 
And  took  away  love." 

After  the  birthnight  confessions,  David  found  it 
easier  to  go  on  with  the  humdrum  life  he  had  chosen 
from  a  sense  of  duty;  for  now  he  felt  as  if  he  had  not 
only  a  fellow-worker,  but  a  comrade  and  friend  who  un- 
derstood, sympathized  with,  and  encouraged  him  by  an 
interest  and  good-will  inexpressibly  comfortable  and 
inspiring.  Nothing  disturbed  the  charm  of  the  new 
league  in  those  early  days ;  for  Christie  was  thoroughly 
simple  and  sincere,  and  did  her  womanly  work  with  no 
thought  of  reward  or  love  or  admiration. 

David  saw  this,  and  felt  it  more  attractive  than  any 
gift  of  beauty  or  fascination  of  manner  would  have 
been.  He  had  no  desire  to  be  a  lover,  having  forbidden 
himself  that  hope ;  but  he  found  it  so  easy  and  pleasant 
to  be  a  friend  that  he  reproached  himself  for  not  trying 
it  before;  and  explained  his  neglect  by  the  fact  that 
Chiistie  was  not  an  ordinary  woman,  since  none  of  all 
the  many  he  had  known  and  helped,  had  ever  been 
any  thing  to  him  but  objects  of  pity  and  protection. 

Mrs.   Sterling  saw    these    changes   with   her   wise, 


288  WORK. 

motherly  eyes,  but  said  nothing;  for  she  influenced 
others  by  the  silent  power  of  character.  Speaking 
little,  and  unusually  gifted  with  the  meditative  habits 
of  age,  she  seemed  to  live  in  a  more  peaceful  world 
than  this.  As  George  MacDonald  somewhere  says, 
"  Her  soul  seemed  to  sit  apart  in  a  sunny  little  room, 
safe  from  dust  and  noise,  serenely  regarding  passers-by 
through  the  clear  muslin  curtains  of  her  window." 

Yet,  she  was  neither  cold  nor  careless,  stern  nor  sel- 
fish, but  ready  to  share  all  the  joys  and  sorrows  of 
those  about  her ;  and  when  advice  was  asked  she  gave 
it  gladly.  Christie  had  won  her  heart  long  ago,  and 
now  was  as  devoted  as  a  daughter  to  her ;  lightening 
her  cares  so  skilfully  that  many  of  them  slipped  natu- 
rally on  to  the  young  shoulders,  and  left  the  old  lady 
much  time  for  rest,  or  the  lighter  tasks  fitted  for  feeble 
hands.  Christie  often  called  her  "Mother,"  and  felt 
herself  rewarded  for  the  hardest,  humblest  job  she  ever 
did  when  the  sweet  old  voice  said  gratefully,  "  I  thank 
thee,  daughter." 

Things  were  in  this  prosperous,  not  to  say  paradi- 
siacal, state,  when  one  member  of  the  family  began  to 
make  discoveries  of  an  alarming  nature.  The  first  was 
that  the  Sunday  pilgrimages  to  church  were  seasons  of 
great  refreshment  to  soul  and  body  when  David  went 
also,  and  utter  failures  if  he  did  not.  Next,  that  the 
restless  ambitions  of  all  sorts  were  quite  gone ;  for  now 
Christie's  mission  seemed  to  be  sitting  in  a  quiet  corner 
and  making  shirts  in  the  most  exquisite  manner,  while 
thinking  about  —  well,  say  botany,  or  any  kindred  sub- 
ject. Thirdly,  that  home  was  woman's  sphere  afler  all, 
and  the  perfect  roasting  of  beef,  brewing  of  tea,  and 


WAKING    UP.  289 

concocting  of  delectable  puddings,  an  end  worth  living 
for  if  masculine  commendation  rewarded  the  labor. 

Fourthly,  and  worst  of  all,  she  discovered  that  she 
was  not  satisfied  with  half  confidences,  and  quite  pined 
to  know  all  about  "  David's  trouble."  The  little  needle- 
book  with  the  faded  "  Letty  "  on  it  haunted  her ;  and 
when,  after  a  pleasant  evening  below,  she  heard  him 
pace  his  room  for  hours,  or  play  melancholy  airs  upon 
the  flute,  she  was  jealous  of  that  unknown  woman  who 
had  such  power  to  disturb  his  peace,  and  felt  a  strong 
desire  to  smash  the  musical  confidante  into  whose  re- 
sponsive breast  he  poured  his  woe. 

At  this  point  Christie  paused ;  and,  after  evading  any 
explanation  of  these  phenomena  in  the  most  skilful 
manner  for  a  time,  suddenly  faced  the  fact,  saying  to 
herself  with  great  candor  and  decision : 

"  I  know  what  all  this  means :  I  'm  beginning  to 
like  David  more  than  is  good  for  me.  I  see  this  clearly, 
and  won't  dodge  any  longer,  but  put  a  stop  to  it  at 
once.  Of  course  I  can  if  I  choose,  and  now  is  the  time 
to  do  it ;  for  I  understand  myself  perfectly,  and  if  I 
reach  a  certain  point  it  is  all  over  with  me.  That 
point  I  will  not  reach  :  David's  heart  is  in  that  Letty's 
grave,  and  he  only  cares  for  me  as  a  fiiend.  I  promised 
to  be  one  to  him,  and  I  '11  keep  my  word  like  an  honest 
woman.  It  may  not  be  easy;  but  all  the  sacrifices 
shall  not  be  his,  and  I  won't  be  a  fool." 

With  praiseworthy  resolution  Christie  set  about  the 
reformation  without  delay  ;  not  an  easy  task  and  one 
that  taxed  all  her  wit  and  wisdom  to  execute  without 
betraying  the  motive  for  it.  She  decided  that  Mrs. 
Sterling  must  not  be  lefl  alone  on  Sunday,  so  the  young 
13  s 


290  WORK. 

people  took  turns  to  go  to  church,  and  such  dismal  trips 
Christie  had  never  known ;  for  all  her  Sundays  were  bad 
weather,  and  Mr.  Power  seemed  to  hit  on  unusually 
uninteresting  texts. 

She  talked  while  she  sewed  instead  of  indulging  in 
dangerous  thoughts,  and  Mrs.  Sterling  was  surprised 
and  entertained  by  this  new  loquacity.  In  the  evening 
she  read  and  studied  with  a  diligence  that  amazed  and 
rather  disgusted  David ;  since  she  kept  all  her  lively 
chat  for  his  mother,  and  pored  over  her  books  when  he 
wanted  her  for  other  things. 

"  I  'm  trying  to  brighten  up  my  wits,"  she  said,  and 
went  on  trying  to  stifle  her  aflections. 

But  though  "  the  absurdity,"  as  she  called  the  new 
revelation,  was  stopped  externally,  it  continued  with 
redoubled  vigor  internally.  Each  night  she  said,  "  this 
must  be  conquered,"  yet  each  morning  it  rose  fair  and 
strong  to  make  the  light  and  beauty  of  her  day,  and 
conquer  her  again.  She  did  her  best  and  bravest,  but 
was  forced  at  last  to  own  that  she  could  not  "  put  a 
stop  to  it,"  because  she  had  already  reached  the  point 
where  "  it  was  all  over  with  her." 

Just  at  this  critical  moment  an  event  occurred  which 
completed  Christie's  defeat,  and  made  her  feel  that  her 
only  safety  lay  in  flight. 

One  evening  she  sat  studying  ferns,  and  heroically 
saying  over  and  over,  "  Andiantum,  Aspidium,  and 
Asplenium,  Trichomanes,"  wliile  longing  to  go  and  talk 
delightfully  to  David,  who  sat  musing  by  the  fire. 

"I  can't  go  on  so  much  longer,"  she  thought  despair- 
inMy.  "Polypodium  aureum,  a  native  of  Florida,"  is 
all  very  interesting  in  its  place ;  but  it  doesn't  help  me 


WAKING    UP.  291 

to  gain  self-control  a  bit,  and  I  shall  disgrace  myself 
if  something  doesn't  happen  very  soon." 

Something  did  haj)pen  almost  instantly ;  for  as  she 
shut  the  cover  sharply  on  the  poor  Polypods,  a  knock 
was  heard,  and  before  David  could  answer  it  the  door 
flew  open  and  a  girl  ran  in.  Straight  to  him  she  went, 
and  clinging  to  his  arm  said  excitedly  : 

"  Oil,  do  take  care  of  me  :  I  've  run  away  again !  " 

"  Why,  Kitty,  what 's  the  matter  now  ?  "  asked 
David,  putting  back  her  hood,  and  looking  down  at  her 
with  the  paternal  expression  Christie  had  not  seen  for 
a  long  time,  and  missed  very  much. 

"  Father  found  me,  and  took  me  home,  and  Avanted 
me  to  marry  a  dreadful  man,  and  I  wouldn't,  so  I  ran 
away  to  you.  He  didn't  know  I  came  here  before,  and 
I  'ra  safe  if  you  '11  let  me  stay,"  cried  Kitty,  still  cling- 
ing and  imploring. 

"Of  course  I  will,  and  glad  to  see  you  back  again," 
answered  David,  adding  pitifully,  as  he  put  her  in  his 
easy-chair,  took  her  cloak  and  hood  off  and  stood  strok- 
ing her  curly  hair :  "  Poor  little  girl !  it  is  hard  to  have 
to  run  away  so  much  :  isn  't  it  ?  " 

"  Not  if  I  come  here  ;  it 's  so  pleasant  I  'd  like  to  stay 
all  my  life,"  and  Kitty  took  a  long  breath,  as  if  her 
troubles  were  over  now.  "Who's  that?"  she  asked 
suddenly,  as  her  eye  fell  on  Christie,  who  sat  watching 
her  with  interest : 

"That  is  our  good  friend  Miss  Devon.  She  came 
to  take  your  place,  and  we  got  so  fond  of  her  we 
could  not  let  her  go,"  answered  David  with  a  gesture 
of  introduction,  quite  unconscious  that  his  pjDsition 
just  then  was  about  as  safe  and   pleasant  as  that  of 


292  WORK. 

a  man  between  a  lighted  candle  and  an  open  pow- 
der barrel. 

The  two  young  women  nodded  to  each  other,  took 
a  swift  survey,  and  made  up  their  minds  before  David 
had  poked  the  fire.  Christie  saw  a  pretty  face  with 
rosy  cheeks,  blue  eyes,  and  brown  rings  of  hair  lying 
on  the  smooth,  low  foreliead ;  a  young  face,  but  not 
childlike,  for  it  was  conscious  of  its  own  prettiness,  and 
betrayed  the  fact  by  little  airs  and  graces  that  reminded 
one  of  a  coquettish  kitten.  Short  and  slender,  she 
looked  more  youthful  than  she  was ;  while  a  gay  dress, 
with  ^dt  ear-rings,  locket  at  the  throat,  and  a  cherry 
ribbon  in  her  hair  made  her  a  bright  little  figure  in  that 
plain  room. 

Christie  suddenly  felt  as  if  ten  years  had  been  added 
to  her  age,  as  she  eyed  the  new-comer,  who  leaned  back 
in  the  great  chair  talking  to  David,  who  stood  on  the 
rug,  evidently  finding  it  pleasanter  to  look  at  the  vi- 
vacious face  before  him  than  at  the  fire. 

"Just  the  pretty,  lively  sort  of  girl  sensible  men 
often  marry,  and  then  discover  how  silly  they  are," 
thought  Christie,  taking  up  her  work  and  assuming  an 
indifi*erent  air. 

"  She's  a  lady  and  nice  looking,  but  I  know  I  shan't 
like  her,"  was  Kitty's  decision,  as  she  turned  away  and 
devoted  herself  to  David,  hoping  he  would  perceive 
how  much  she  had  improved  and  admire  her  accord- 
ingly. 

"  So  you  don't  want  to  marry  this  Miles  because  he 
is  not  handsome.  You'd  better  think  again  before  you 
make  up  your  mind.  He  is  respectable,  well  ofi*,  and 
fond  of  you,  it  seems.     Why  not  try  it,  Kitty  ?     You 


WAKING   UP^.  293 

need  some  one  to  take  care  of  you  sadly,"  David  said, 
when  lier  story  had  been  told. 

"  If  fatiier  plagues  me  much  I  may  take  the  man ; 
but  I M  rather  have  the  other  one  if  he  wasn't  poor," 
answered  Kitty  with  a  side-long  glance  of  the  blue 
eyes,  and  a  conscious  smile  on  the  red  lips. 

"  Oh,  there 's  another  lover,  is  there  ?" 

"  Lots  of  'em." 

David  laughed  and  looked  at  Christie  as  if  inviting 
her  to  be  amused  with  the  freaks  and  prattle  of  a  child. 
But  Christie  sewed  away  without  a  sign  of  interest. 

"  That  won't  do,  Kitty  :  you  are  too  young  for  much 
of  such  nonsense.  I  shall  keep  you  here  a  while,  and 
see  if  we  can't  settle  matters  both  wisely  and  pleas- 
antly," he  said,  shaking  his  head  as  sagely  as  a  grand- 
father. 

"I'm  sure  I  wish  you  would:  I  love  to  stay  here, 
you  are  always  so  good  to  me.  I  'm  in  no  hurry  to  be 
married  ;  and  you  won't  make  me  :  will  you  ?" 

Kitty  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  stood  before  him  with  a 
beseeching  little  gesture,  and  a  confiding  air  quite  cap- 
tivating to  behold. 

Christie  was  suddenly  seized  with  a  strong  desire  to 
shake  the  girl  and  call  her  an  "  artful  httle  hussy,"  but 
crushed  this  unaccountable  impulse,  and  hemmed  a 
pocket-handkerchief  with  reckless  rapidity,  while  she 
stole  covert  glances  at  the  tableau  hy  the  fire. 

David  put  his  finger  under  Kitty's  round  chin,  and 
lifting  her  face  looked  into  it,  trying  to  discover  if 
she  really  cared  for  this  suitor  who  seemed  so  provi- 
dentially provided  for  her.  Kitty  smiled  and  blushed, 
and  dimpled  under  that  grave  look  so  prettily  that  it 


294  WORK. 

soon  changed,  and  David  let  her  go,  saying  indul- 
gently : 

"  You  shall  not  be  troubled,  for  you  are  only  a  child 
after  all.  Let  the  lovers  go,  and  stay  and  play  with  me, 
for  I've  been  rather  lonely  lately." 

"  That 's  a  reproach  for  me,"  thought  Christie,  long- 
ing to  cry  out :  "  No,  no ;  send  the  girl  away  and  let 
me  be  all  in  all  to  you."  But  she  only  turned  up  the 
lamp  and  pretended  to  be  looking  for  a  spool,  while  her 
heart  ached  and  her  eyes  were  too  dim  for  seeing. 

"I'm  too  old  to  play,  but  I'll  stay  and  tease  you  as 
I  used  to,  if  Miles  don't  come  and  carry  me  off  as  he 
said  he  would,"  answered  Kitty,  with  a  toss  of  the 
head  which  showed  she  was  not  so  childlike  as  David 
fancied.  But  the  next  minute  she  was  sitting  on  a 
stool  at  his  feet  petting  the  cat,  while  she  told  her  ad- 
ventures with  girlish  volubility. 

Christie  could  not  bear  to  sit  and  look  on  any  longer, 
so  she  left  the  room,  saying  she  would  see  if  Mrs.  Ster- 
ling wanted  any  thing,  for  the  old  lady  kept  her  room 
with  a  touch  of  rheumatism.  As  she  shut  the  door, 
Christie  heard  Kitty  say  softly  : 

"  Xow  we  '11  be  comfortable  as  we  used  to  be :  won't 
we?" 

"What  David  answered  Christie  did  not  stay  to  hear, 
but  went  into  the  kitchen,  and  had  her  first  pang  of 
jealousy  out  alone,  while  she  beat  up  the  buckwheats 
for  breakfast  with  an  energy  that  made  them  miracles 
of  lightness  on  the  morrow. 

When  she  told  Mrs.  Sterling  of  the  new  arrival, 
the  placid  little  lady  gave  a  cluck  of  regret  and  said 
with  unusual  emphasis : 


WAKING   UP.  295 

"  I  'm  sorry  for  it." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Christie,  feeling  as  if  she  could  em- 
brace the  speaker  for  the  words. 

"  She  is  a  giddy  httle  thing,  and  m,uch  care  to  who- 
ever befriends  her."  Mrs.  Sterling  would  say  no  more, 
but,  as  Christie  bade  her  good-night,  she  held  her  hand, 
saying  with  a  kiss  : 

•*  No  one  will  take  thy  place  with  me,  my  daughter*" 

For  a  week  Christie  suffered  constant  pin-pricks  of 
jealousy,  despising  herself  all  the  time,  and  trying  to 
be  friendly  with  the  disturber  of  her  peace.  As  if 
prompted  by  an  evil  spirit,  Kitty  unconsciously  tried 
and  tormented  her  from  morning  to  night,  and  no  one 
saw  or  guessed  it  unless  Mrs.  Sterling's  motherly  heart 
divined  the  truth.  David  seemed  to  enjoy  the  girl's 
lively  chat,  her  openly  expressed  affection,  and  the  fresh 
young  face  that  always  brightened  when  he  came. 

Presently,  however,  Christie  saw  a  change  in  him, 
and  suspected  that  he  had  discovered  that  Kitty  was  a 
child  no  longer,  but  a  young  girl  with  her  head  full  of 
love  and  lovers.  The  blue  eyes  grew  shy,  the .  pretty 
face  grew  eloquent  with  blushes  now  and  then,  as  he 
looked  at  it,  and  the  lively  tongue  faltered  sometimes 
in  speaking  to  him.  A  thousand  little  coquetries  were 
played  off  for  his  benefit,  and  frequent  appeals  for 
advice  in  her  heart  affairs  kept  tender  subjects  upper- 
most in  their  conversations. 

At  first  all  this  seemed  to  amuse  David  as  much  as 
if  Kitty  were  a  small  child  playing  at  sweethearts ;  but 
soon  his  manner  changed,  growing  respectful,  and  a 
little  cool  when  Kitty  was  most  confiding.  He  no 
longer  laughed  about  Miles,  stopped  calling  her  "  little 


296  WORK. 

girl,"  and  dropped  his  paternal  ways  as  he  had  done 
with  Christie.  By  many  indescribable  but  significant 
signs  he  showed  that  he  considered  Kitty  a  woman 
now  and  treated  her  as  such,  being  all  the  more  scru- 
pulous in  the  respect  he  paid  her,  because  she  was  so 
unprotected,  and  so  wanting  in  the  natural  dignity  and 
refinement  which  are  a  woman's  best  protection. 
.  Christie  admired  him  for  this,  but  saw  in  it  ihe 
beginning  of  a  tenderer  feeling  than  pity,  and  felt  each 
day  that  she  was  one  too  many  now. 

Kitty  was  puzzled  and  j^iqued  by  these  changes,  and 
being  a  born  Hirt  tried  all  her  powers  on  David,  veiled 
under  guileless  girlishness.  She  was  very  jDretty,  very 
charming,  and  at  times  most  lovable  and  sweet  when 
all  that  was  best  in  her  shallow  little  heart  was  touched. 
But  it  was  evident  to  all  that  her  early  acquaintance 
with  the  hard  and  sordid  side  of  life  had  brushed  the 
bloom  from  her  natuize,  and  filled  her  mind  with 
thoughts  and  feelings  unfitted  to  her  years. 

Mrs.  Sterling  was  very  kind  to  her,  but  never  treated 
her  as  she  did  Christie ;  and  though  not  a  word  was 
spoken  between  them  the  elder  women  knew  that  they 
quite  agreed  in  their  opinion  of  Kitty.  She  evidently 
was  rather  afraid  of  the  old  lady,  who  said  so  little -and 
saw  so  much.  Christie  also  she  shunned  without  ap- 
pearing to  do  so,  and  when  alone  with  her  put  on  airs 
that  half  amused,  half  irritated  the  other. 

"  David  is  my  friend,  and  I  don't  care  for  any  one 
else,"  her  manner  said  as  plainly  as  words ;  and  to  him 
she  devoted  herself  so  entirely,  and  apparently  so  suc- 
cessfully, that  Christie  made  up  her  mind  he  had  at 
last  begun  to  forget  his  Letty,  and  think  of  filling  the 
void  her  loss  had  left. 


WAKING   UP.  297 

A  few  worcis  which  she  acciclentally  overheard  con- 
firmed this  idea,  and  showed  her  what  she  must  do. 
As  she  came  quietly  in  one  evening  from  a  stroll  in  the 
lane,  and  stood  taking  oti*  cloak  and  hood,  she  csught^ 
glimpse  through  tlie  half-open  parlor  door  of  David 
pacing  to  and  fro  with  a  curiously  excited  expression 
on  his  face,  and  heard  Mrs.  Sterling  say  with  unusual 
warmth  : 

"  Thee  is  too  hard  upon  thyself,  Davy.  Forget  the 
past  and  be  happy  as  other  men  are.  Thee  has  atoned 
for  thy  fiult  long  ago,  so  let  me  see  thee  at  peace 
before  I  die,  my  son." 

"  Not  yet,  mother,  not  yet.  I  have  no  right  to  hope 
or  ask  for  any  woman's  love  till  I  am  worthier  of  it," 
answered  David  in  a  tone  that  thrilled  Christie's  heart : 
it  was  so  full  of  love  and  longing. 

Here  Kitty  came  running  in  from  the  green-house 
with  her  hands  full  of  flowers,  and  passing  Christie,  who 
was  fumbling  among  the  cloaks  in  the  passage,  she 
went  to  show  David  some  new  blossom. 

He  had  no  time  to  alter  the  expression  of  his  face 
for  its  usual  grave  serenity :  Kitty  saw  the  change  at 
once,  and  spoke  of  it  with  her  accustomed  want  of 
tact. 

"  How  handsome  you  look  !  What  «re  you  thinking 
about?"  she  said,  gazing  up  at  him  Avith  her  own  eyes 
bright  with  wonder,  and  her  cheeks  glowing  with  the 
delicate  carmine  of  the  frosty  air. 

"  I  am  thinking  that  you  look  more  like  a  rose  than 
ever,"  answered  David  turning  her  attention  from  him- 
self by  a  compliment,   and  beginning  to  admu-e  the 
13* 


298  WORK. 

flowers,  still  with  that  flushed  and  kindled  look  on  his 
own  face. 

Christie  crept  upstairs,  and,  sitting  in  tlie  dark,  decided 
with  the  firmness  of  despair  to  go  away,  lest  she  should 
betray  tlie  secret  that  possessed  her,  a  dead  hope  now, 
but  still  too  dear  to  be  concealed. 

"  Mr.  Power  told  me  to  come  to  him  when  I  got  tired 
of  this.  I  '11  say  I  am  tired  and  try  sometliing  else,  no 
matter  what :  I  can  bear  any  thing,  but  to  stand  quietly 
by  and  see  David  marry  that  empty-hearted  girl,  who 
dares  to  show  that  she  desires  to  win  him.  Out  of 
sight  of  all  this,  I  can  conquer  my  love,  at  least  hide  it; 
but  if  I  stay  I  know  I  shall  betray  myself  in  some  bit- 
ter minute,  and  I'd  rather  die  than  do  that." 

Armed  with  this  resolution,  Christie  went  the  next 
day  to  Mr.  Power,  and  simply  said  :  "I  am  not  needed 
at  the  Sterlings  any  more  :  can  you  give  me  other  work 
to  do?" 

Mr.  Power's  keen  eye  searched  her  face  for  a  mo- 
ment, as  if  to  discover  the  real  motive  for  her  wish. 
But  Christie  had  nerved  herself  to  bear  that  look,  and 
showed  no  sign  of  her  real  trouble,  unless  the  set  ex- 
pression of  her  lips,  and  the  unnatural  steadiness  of 
her  eyes  betrayed  it  to  that  experienced  reader  of 
human  hearts. 

Whatever  he  suspected  or  saw,  Mr.  Power  kept  to 
himself,  and  answered  in  his  cordial  way  : 

"  Well,  I  've  been  expecting  you  would  tire  of  that 
quiet  life,  and  have  plenty  of  work  ready  for  you. 
One  of  my  good  Dorcases  is  tired  out  and  must  rest ;  so 
you  shall  take  her  place  and  visit  my  poor,  report 
their  needs,  and  supply  them  as  fast  as  we  can.  Does 
that  suit  you  ?  " 


WAKING   UP. 


299 


<'  Entirely,  sir.  Where  shall  I  live  ?  "  asked  Christie, 
with  an  expression  of  relief  that  said  much. 

«  Here  for  the  present.  I  want  a  secretary  to  put  my 
papers  in  order,  write  some  of  my  letters,  and  do  a 
thousand  things  to  help  a  busy  man.  My  old  house- 
keeper likes  you,  and  will  let  you  take  a  duster  now 
and  then  if  you  don't  find  enough  other  work  to  do. 
When  can  you  come  ?  " 

Christie  answered  with  a  long  breath  of  satisfaction  : 
"  To-morrow,  if  you  like." 

"  I  do  :  can  you  be  spared  so  soon  ?  " 
"  Oh,  yes  !  they  don't  want  me  now  at  all,  or  I  would 
not  leave  them.     Kitty  can  take  my  place:   she  needs 
protection  more  than  I ;  and  there  is  not  room  for  two. 
She  checked  herself  there,  conscious  that  a  tone  of 
bitterness  had  crept  into  her  voice.     Then  qmte  steaddy 

she  added  :  i      i    Ar 

"  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  write,  and  ask  JMrs. 
Sterling  if  she  can  spare  me?  'I  shall  find  it  hard  to 
tell  her  myself,  for  I  fear  she  may  think  me  ungrateful 
after  all  her  kindness." 

"No:  she  is  used  to  parting  with  those  whom  she 
has  helped,  and  is  always  glad  to  set  them  on  their  way 
toward  better  things.  I  will  write  to-morrow,  and  you 
can  come  whenever  you  will,  sure  of  a  welcome,  my 

child."  ^         ^    . 

Something  in  the  tone  of  those  last  words,  and  the 
pressure  of  the  strong,  kind  hand,  touched  Christie  s 
sore  heart,  and  made  it  impossible  for  her  to  hide  the 
truth  entirely. 

She  only  said:  "Thank  you,  sir.  I  shall  be  very 
glad  to  come;"  but  her  eyes  were  full,  and  she  held 


300  WOBK. 

his  hand  an  instant,  as  if  she  clung  to  it  sure  of  succor 
and  support. 

Then  she  went  home  so  pale  and  quiet ;  so  lielpful, 
patient,  and  affectionate,  that  Mrs.  Sterling  watclied 
her  anxiously;  David  looked  amazed  ;  and,  even  self- 
ahsorbed  Kitty  saw  the  change,  and  was  touched 
by  it. 

On  the  morrow,  Mr.  Power's  note  came,  and  Christie 
fled  upstairs  while  it  was  read  and  discussed. 

"  If  I  get  through  this  parting  without  disgracing 
myself,  I  don't  care  what  happens  to  me  afterward,"  she 
said ;  and,  in  order  that  she  might  do  so,  she  assumed 
a  cheerful  air,  and  determined  to  depart  with  all  the 
honors  of  war,  if  she  died  in  the  attempt. 

So,  when  Mrs.  Sterling  called  her  down,  she  went 
humming  into  the  parlor,  smiled  as  she  read  the  note 
silently  given  her,  and  then  said  with  an  effort  greater 
than  any  she  had  ever  made  in  her  most  arduous  part 
on  the  stage : 

"  Yes,  I  did  say  to  Mr.  Power  that  I  thought  I  'd 
better  be  moving  on.  I  'm  a  restless  creature  as  you 
know;  and,  now  that  you  don't  need  me,  I  've  a  fancy  to 
see  more  of  the  world.  If  you  Avant  me  back  again  in 
the  spring,  I  '11  come." 

"  I  shall  want  thee,  my  dear,  but  will  not  say  a  word 
to  keep  thee  now,  for  thee  does  need  a  change,  and  Mr. 
Power  can  give  thee  work  better  suited  to  thy  taste 
than  any  here.  We  shall  see  thee  sometimes,  and 
spring  will  make  thee  long  for  the  flowers,  I  hope," 
was  Mrs.  Sterling's  answer,  as  Christie  gave  back  the 
note  at  the  end  of  her  difficult  speech. 

"  Don't   think   me    ungrateful.      1   have   been   very 


WAKING    UP.  301 

happy  here,  and  never  shall  forget  how  motherly  kind 
you  have  been  to  me.  You  will  believe  this  and  love 
me  still,  though  I  go  away  and  leave  you  for  a  little 
while  ?  "  prayed  Christie,  with  a  face  full  of  treacherous 
emotion. 

Mrs.  Sterling  laid  her  hand  on  Christie's  head,  as  she 
knelt  down  impulsively  before  her,  and  with  a  soft  so- 
lemnity that  made  the  words  both  an  assurance  and  a 
blessing,  she  said : 

"  I  believe  and  love  and  honor  thee,  my  child.  My 
heart  warmed  to  thee  from  the  first :  it  has  taken 
thee  to  itself  now ;  and  nothing  can  ever  come  betAveen 
us,  unless  thee  wills  it.  Remember  that,  and  go  in 
peace  with  an  old  friend's  thanks,  and  good  wishes 
in  return  for  faithful  service,  w^hich  no  money  can 
repay." 

Christie  laid  her  cheek  against  that  wrinkled  one,  and, 
for  a  moment,  was  held  close  to  that  peaceful  old  heart 
which  felt  so  tenderly  for  her,  yet  never  wounded  her 
by  a  word  of  pity.  Infinitely  comforting  was  that  little 
instant  of  time,  when  the  venerable  woman  consoled 
the  young  one  with  a  touch,  and  strengthened  her  by 
the  mute  eloquence  of  sympathy. 

This  made  the  hardest  task  of  all  easier  to  perform ; 
and,  when  David  met  her  in  the  evening,  Christie  was 
ready  to  play  out  her  part,  feeling  that  Mrs.  Sterling 
would  help  her,  if  need  be.  But  David  toak  it  very 
quietly  ;  at  least,  he  showed  no  very  poignant  regi-et  at 
her  departure,  though  he  lamented  it,  and  hoped  it 
would  not  be  a  very  long  absence.  This  wounded 
Christie  terribly  ;  for  all  of  a  sudden  a  barrier  seemed 
to  rise  between  them,  and  the  old  friendliness  grew 
chilled. 


302 


WORK. 


"  He  thinks  I  am  ungrateful,  and  is  offended,"  she 
said  to  herself.  "  Well,  I  can  bear  coldness  better  than 
kindness  now,  and  it  will  make  it  easier  to  go." 

Kitty  was  pleased  at  the  prospect  of  reigning  alone, 
and  did  not  disguise  her  satisfaction  ;  so  Christie's  last 
day  was  any  thing  but  pleasant.  Mr.  Power  would 
send  for  her  on  the  morrow,  and  she  busied  herself  in 
packing  her  own  possessions,  setting  every  thing  in 
order,  and  making  various  little  arrangements  for  Mrs. 
Sterling's  comfort,  as  Kitty  was  a  heedless  creature ; 
willing  enough,  but  very  forgetful.  In  the  evening 
some  neighbors  came  in ;  so  that  dangerous  time  was 
safely  passed,  and  Christie  escaped  to  her  own  room 
with  her  usual  quiet  good-night  all  round. 

"  We  won't  have  any  sentimental  demonstrations ; 
no  wailing,  or  tender  adieux.  If  I  'm  weak  enough  to 
break  my  heart,  no  one  need  know  it,  —  least  of  all, 
that  little  fool,"  thought  Christie,  grimly,  as  she  burnt 
up  several  long-cherished  relics  of  her  love. 

She  was  up  early,  and  went  about  her  usual  work 
with  the  sad  pleasure  wath  which  one  performs  a  task 
for  the  last  time.  Lazy  little  Kitty  never  appeared  till 
the  bell  rang;  and  Christie  was  fond  of  that  early  hour, 
busy  though  it  was,  for  David  was  always  before  her 
with  blazing  fires ;  and,  while  she  got  breakfast,  he 
came  and  went  with  wood  and  water,  milk  and  market- 
ing ;  often  stopping  to  talk,  and  always  in  his  happiest 
mood. 

The  first  snow-foU  had  made  the  world  wondeifully 
lovely  that  morning ;  and  Christie  stood  at  the  window 
admiring  the  bridal  look  of  the  earth,  as  it  lay  daz- 
zlingly  white  in  the  early  sunshine.     The  little  parlor 


WAKINO    UP.  ^^^ 

was  fresh  and  clean,  with  no  speck  of  dust  anywhere; 
the  lire  burned  on  the  bright  andirons;  the  flowers 
were  rejoicing  in  their  morning  bath;  and  the  table 
was  set  out  with  dainty  care.  So  homelike,  so  pleas- 
ant so  very  dear  to  her,  that  Christie  yearned  to  stay, 
yet  dared  not,  and  had  barely  time  to  steady  face  and 
voice,  when  David  came  in  with  the  little  posies  he 
always  had  Veady  for  his  mother  and  Christie  at  break- 
fist  time.  Only  a  iiower  by  their  plates  ;  but  it  meant 
much  to  them :  for,  in  these  lives  of  ours,  tender  little 
acts  do  more  to  bind  hearts  together  than  great  deeds 
or  heroic  words;  since  the  first  are  like  the  dear  daily 
bread  that  none  can  live  without ;  the  latter  but  occa- 
sional feasts,  beautiful  and  memorable,  but  not  possible 

.  to  all. 

This  morning  David  laid  a  sprig  of  sweet-scented 
balm  at  his  mother's  place,  two  or  three  rosy  daisies  at 
Kitty's,  and  a  bunch  of  Christie's  favorite  violets  at  hers. 
She  smiled  as  her  eye  went  from  the  scentless  daisies, 
so  pertly  pretty,  to  her  own  posy  full  of  perfume,  and 
the  half  sad,  half  sweet  associations  that  haunt  these 
blue-eyed  flowers. 

«  I  wanted  pansies  for  you,  but  not  one  would  bloom ; 
so  I  did  the  next  best,  since  you  don't  like  roses,"  said 
David,  as  Christie  stood  looking  at  the  violets  with 
a  thoughtful  face,  for  something  in  the  peculiarly  grace- 
ful arrangement  of  the  heart-shaped  leaves  recalled 
another  nosegay  to  her  mind. 

"  I  like  these  very  much,  because  they  came  to  me  in 
the  beginning  of  this,  the  happiest  year  of  my  life;" 
and  scarcely  knowing  why,  except  that  it  was  very  sweet 
to  talk  with  David  in  the  early  sunshine,  she  told  alpout 


304  WORK. 

the  flowers  some  one  had  given  her  at  church.  As  she 
finished  she  looked  up  at  him ;  and,  though  his  face  was 
perfectly  grave,  his  eyes  laughed,  and  with  a  sudden  con- 
viction of  the  truth,  Christie  exclaimed! 

"  David,  I  do  believe  it  was  you  ! " 

"  I  couldn't  help  it :  you  seemed  so  touched  and 
troubled.  I  longed  to  speak  to  you,  but  didn't  dare,  so 
dropped  the  flowers  and  got  away  as  fast  as  possible. 
Did  you  think  it  very  rude  ?  " 

"  I  thought  it  the  sweetest  thing  that  ever  happened 
to  me.  That  was  my  first  step  along  a  road  that  you 
have  strewn  with  flowers  ever  since.  I  can't  thank 
you,  but  I  never  shall  forget  it."  Christie  spoke  out 
fervently,  and  for  an  instant  her  heart  shone  in  her 
face.  Then  she  checked  herself,  and,  fearing  she  had 
said  too  much,  fell  to  slicing  bread  w^ith  an  energetic 
rapidity  which  resulted  in  a  cut  finger.  Dropping  the 
knife,  she  tried  to  get  her  handkerchief,  but  the  blood 
flowed  fast,  and  the  pain  of  a  deep  gash  made  her  a 
little  faint.  David  sprung  to  help  her,  tied  up  the 
wound,  put  her  in  the  big  chair,  held  water  to  her  lips, 
and  bathed  her  temples  w^ith  a  wet  napkin ;  silently,  but 
so  tenderly,  that  it  was  almost  too  much  for  poor 
Christie. 

For  one  happy  moment  her  head  lay  on  his*  arm,  and 
his  hand  brushed  back  her  hair  with  a  touch  that  was  a 
caress :  she  heard  his  heart  beat  fast  w^ith  anxiety ;  felt 
his  breath  on  her  cheek,  and  wished  that  she  might  die 
then  and  there,  though  a  bread-knife  was  not  a  roman- 
tic weapon,  nor  a  cut  finger  as  interesting  as  a  broken 
heart.  Kitty's  voice  made  her  start  up,  and  the  blissful 
vision  of  life,  with  David  in  the  little  house  alone,  van- 


WAKING   UP. 


805 


ished  like  a  bright  bubble,  leaving  the  hard  reality  to 
be  lived  out  with  nothing  but  a  woman's  pride  to 
conceal  a  woman's  most  passionate  pain. 

"It's  nothing:  I'm  all  right  now.  Don't  say  any 
thing  to  worry  your  mother;  I  '11  put  on  a  bit  of  court- 
plaster,  and  no  one  wilb  be  the  wiser,"  she  said,  hastily 
removing  all  traces  of  the  accident  but  her  own  pale 
face. 

"Poor  Christie,  it's  hard  that  you  should  go  away 


"One  Happy  Moment.' 
T 


306  WORK. 

with  a  wound  like  this  on  the  hand  that  has  done  so 
much  for  us,"  said  David,  as  he  carefully  adjusted  the 
black  strip  on  that  forefinger,  roughened  by  many 
stitches  set  for  him. 

"  I  loved  to  do  it,"  was  all  Christie  trusted  herself  to 
say. 

"  I  know  you  did  ;  and  in  your  own  words  I  can  only 
answer:  *I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you,  but  I  never 
shall  forget  it.'"  And  David  kissed  the  wounded  hand 
as  gratefully  and  reverently  as  if  its  palm  was  not 
hardened  liy  the   humblest   tasks. 

If  he  had  only  known  —  ah,  if  he  had  only  known !  — 
how  easily  he  might  repay  that  debt,  and  heal  the 
deeper  wound  in  Christie's  heart.  As  it  was,  she  could 
only  say,  "  You  are  too  kind,"  and  begin  to  shovel  tea 
into  the  pot,  as  Kitty  came  in,  as  rosy  and  fresh  as  the 
daisies  she  put  in  her  hair. 

"  Ain't  they  becoming  ?  "  she  asked,  turning  to  Da- 
vid for  admiration. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  he  answered  absently,  looking  out 
over  her  head,  as  he  stood  upon  the  rug  in  the  attitude 
which  the  best  men  will  assume  in  the  bosoms  of  their 
families. 

Kitty  looked  offended,  and  turned  to  the  min-or  for 
comfort ;  while  Christie  went  on  shovelling  tea,  quite 
unconscious  what  she  was  about  till  David  said  gravely : 

"  Won't  that  be  rather  strong  ?  " 

"  How  stupid  of  me !  I  always  forget  that  Kitty  does 
not  drink  tea,"  and  Christie  rectified  her  mistake  with 
all  speed. 

Kitty  laughed,  and  said  in  her  pert  little  way : 

"Getting  ujd  early  don't  seem  to  agree  with  either 


WAKING   UP.  ^^^ 

of  you   this   morning:    I   wonder  what   you've   been 
doing?" 

"Your  work.  Suppose  you  bring  in  the  kettle: 
Christie  has  hurt  her  hand." 

David  spoke  quietly ;  but  Kitty  looked  as  much  sur- 
prised as  if  he  had  boxed  her  ears,  for  he  had  never 
used  that  tone  to  her  before.  She  meekly  obeyed ;  and 
David  added  with  a  smile  to  Christie : 

"  Mother  is  coming  down,  and  you  '11  have  to  get 
more  color  into  your  cheeks  if  you  mean  to  hide  your 
accident  from  her." 

"  That  is  easily  done ; "  and  Christie  rubbed  her  pale 
cheeks  till  they  rivalled  Kitty's  in  their  bloom. 
•  "  How  well  you  women  know  how  to  conceal  your 
wounds,"  said  David,  half  to  himself. 

"It  is  an  invaluable  accomplishment  for  us  sometimes : 
you  forget  that  I  have  been  an  actress,"  answered 
Christie,  with  a  bitter  sort  of  smile. 

"  I  wish  I  could  forget  what  I  have  been ! "  muttered 
David,  turning  his  back  to  her  and  kicking  a  log  that 
had  rolled  out  of  place. 

In  came  Mrs.  Sterling,  and  every  one  brightened  up 
to  meet  her.  Kitty  was  silent,  and  wore  an  injured  air 
which  nobody  minded ;  Christie  was  very  lively ;  and 
David  did  his  best  to  help  her  through  that  last  meal, 
wdiich  was  a  hard  one  to  three  out  of  the  four. 

At  noon  a  carriage  came  for  Christie,  and  she  said 
good-by,  as  she  had  drilled  herself  to  say  it,  cheerfully 
and  steadily. 

"  It  is  only  for  a  time,  else  I  couldn't  let  thee  go, 
my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Sterling,  with  a  close  embrace. 

"  I  shall  see  you  at  church,  and  Tuesday  evenings, 


308  woiiK. 

even  if  you  don't  find  time  to  come  to  us,  so  I  shall  not 
say  good-by  at  all ; "  and  David  shook  hands  warmly, 
as  he  put  her  into  the  carriage. 

"  I  '11  invite  you  to  ray  wedding  when  I  make  up  my 
mind,"  said  Kitty,  with  feminine  malice ;  for  in  her  eyes 
Christie  Avas  an  old  maid  who  doubtless  envied  her  her 
"  lots  of  lovers. " 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  very  happy.  In  the  mean  time 
try  to  save  dear  Mrs.  Sterling  all  you  can,  and  let  her 
make  you  worthy  a  good  husband,"  was  Christie's  an- 
swer to  a  speech  she  was  too  noble  to  resent  by  a  sharp 
word,  or  even  a  contemptuous  look. 

Then  she  drove  away,  smiUng  and  waving  her  hand 
to  the  old  lady  at  her  window ;  but  the  last  thing  she 
saw  as  she  left  the  well-beloved  lane,  was  David  going 
slowly  up  the  j^ath,  with  Kitty  close  beside  him,  talking 
busily.  If  she  had  heard  the  short  dialogue  between 
them,  the  sight  would  have  been  less  bitter,  for  Kitty 
said: 

"  She 's  dreadful  good ;  but  I'm  glad  she 's  gone :  ain't 
you?" 

"No." 

"  Had  you  rather  have  her  here  than  me  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  ask  her  to  come  back." 

"I  would  if  I  could  I" 

"  I  never  did  see  any  thing  like  it ;  every  one  is  so 
queer  and  cross  to-day  I  get  snubbed  all  round.  If 
folks  ain't  good  to  me,  I  '11  go  and  marry  Miles !  I  de- 
clare I  will." 

"  You  'd  better,"  and  with  that  David  left  her  fi-own- 
ing  and  pouting  in  the  porch,  and  went  to  shovelling 
snow  with  unusual  viiror. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

WHICH  ? 


David. 

MR.  POWER  received  Christie  so  hospitably  that 
she  felt  at  home  at  once,  and  took  up  her  new 
duties  with  the  energy  of  one  anxious  to  repay  a  favor. 
Her  friend  knew  well  the  saving  power  of  work,  and 
gave  her  plenty  of  it ;  but  it  was  a  sort  that  at  once 
interested  and  absorbed  her,  so  that  she  had  little  time 
for  dangerous  thoughts  or  vain  regi-ets.  As  he  once 
said,  Mr.  Power  made  her  own  troubles  seem  light  by 
showing  her  others  so  terribly  real  and  great  that  she 
was  ashamed  to  repine  at  her  own  lot. 


310  WOBK. 

Her  gift  of  sympathy  served  her  well,  past  expe- 
rience gave  her  a  quick  eye  to  read  the  truth  in  others, 
and  the  earnest  desire  to  help  and  comfort  made  her  an 
excellent  almoner  for  the  rich,  a  welcome  friend  to  the 
poor.  She  was  in  just  the  right  mood  to  give  herself 
gladly  to  any  sort  of  sacrifice,  and  labored  with  a  quiet 
energy,  painful  to  witness  had  any  one  known  the  hid- 
den suffering  that  would  not  let  her  rest. 

If  she  had  been  a  regular  novel  heroine  at  this  crisis, 
she  would  have  grown  gray  in  a  single  night,  had  a 
dangerous  illness,  gone  mad,  or  at  least  taken  to  per- 
vading the  house  at  unseasonable  hours  with  her  back 
hair  down  and  much  wringing  of  the  hands.  Being 
only  a  commonplace  woman  she  did  nothing  so  roman- 
tic, but  instinctively  tried  to  sustain  and  comfort  her- 
self with  the  humble,  wholesome  duties  and  affections 
which  seldom  fail  to  keep  heads  sane  and  hearts  safe. 
Yet,  though  her  days  seemed  to  pass  so  busily  and 
cheerfully,  it  must  be  confessed  that  there  were  lonely 
vigils  in  the  night ;  and  sometimes  in  the  morning 
Christie's  eyes  were  very  heavy,  Christie's  pillow  wet 
with  tears. 

But  life-  never  is  all  work  or  sorrow;  and  happy 
hours,  helpful  pleasures,  are  mercifully  given  like  way- 
side springs  to  pilgrims  trudging  wearily  along.  Mr. 
Power  showed  Christie  many  such,  and  silently  pro- 
vided her  with  better  consolation  than  pity  or  advice. 

"  Deeds  not  words,"  was  his  motto  ;  and  he  lived  it 
out  most  faithfully.  "Books  and  work"  he  gave  his 
new  charge ;  and  then  followed  up  that  prescription 
■«nth  "  healthful  play "  of  a  sort  she  liked,  and  had 
longed  for  all  her  life.     Sitting  at  his   table  Christie 


WHICH7  311 

saw  the  best  and  bravest  men  and  women  of  our  times ; 
for  Mr.  Power  was  a  magnet  that  drew  them  from  all 
parts  of  the  world.  She  saw  and  heard,  admired  and 
loved  them  ;  felt  her  soul  kindle  with  the  desire  to  fol- 
low in  their  steps,  share  their  great  tasks,  know  their 
dithculties  and  dangers,  and  in  the  end  taste  the  immor- 
tal satisfactions  given  to  those  who  live  and  labor  for 
tlieir  fellow-men.  In  such  society  all  other  aims  seemed 
poor  and  petty ;  for  they  appeared  to  live  in  a  nobler 
world  than  any  she  had  known,  and  she  felt  as  if 
they  belonged  to  another  race;  not  men  nor  angels, 
but  a  delightful  mixture  of  the  two ;  more  as  she  im- 
agined the  gods  and  heroes  of  old ;  not  perfect,  but 
wonderfully  strong  and  brave  and  good ;  each  gifted 
with  a  separate  virtue,  and  each  bent  on  a  mission  that 
should  benefit  mankind. 

Nor  was  this  the  only  pleasure  given  her.  One  even- 
ing of  each  week  was  set  apart  by  Mr.  Power  for  the 
reception  of  whomsoever  chose  to  visit  him ;  for  his 
parish  was  a  large  one,  and  his  house  a  safe  haunt  for 
refugees  from  all  countries,  all  oppressions. 

Christie  enjoyed  these  evenings  heartily,  for  there 
was  no  ceremony ;  each  comer  brought  his  mission, 
idea,  or  need,  and  genuine  hospitality  made  the  visit 
profitable  or  memorable  to  all,  for  entire  freedom  pre- 
vailed, and  there  was  stabling  for  every  one's  hobby. 

Christie  felt  that  she  was  now  receiving  the  best  cult- 
ure, acquiring  the  polish  that  society  gives,  and  makes 
truly  admirable  when  character  adds. warmth  and  power 
to  its  chann.  The  presence  of  her  bosom-care  calmed 
the  old  unrest,  softened  her  manners,  and  at  times 
touched  her  face  with   au  expression  more  beautiful 


312  WORK. 

than  heauty.  She  was  quite  unconscious  of  the  changes 
passing  over  her;  and  if  any  one  had  told  her  she  was 
fast  becoming  a  most  attractive  woman,  she  wouhl 
have  been  utterly  incredulous.  But  others  saw  and 
felt  the  new  charm ;  for  no  deep  experience  bravely 
borne  can  fail  to  leave  its  mark,  often  giving  power  in 
return  for  patience,  and  lending  a  subtle  loveliness  to 
faces  whose  bloom  it  has  destroyed. 

This  fact  was  made  apparent  to  Christie  one  evening 
when  she  went  down  to  the  weekly  gathering  in  one 
of  the  melancholy  moods  which  sometimes  oppressed 
her.  She  felt  dissatisfied  with  herself  because  her 
interest  in  all  things  began  to  flag,  and  a  restless 
longing  for  some  new  excitement  to  break  up  the 
monotonous  pain  of  her  inner  life  possessed  her.  Being 
still  a  little  shy  in  company,  she  slipped  quietly  into  a 
recess  which  commanded  a  view  of  both  rooms,  and 
sat  looking  listlessly  about  her  while  waiting  for  David, 
who  seldom  failed  to  come. 

A  curious  collection  of  fellow-beings  was  before  her, 
and  at  another  time  she  would  have  found  much  to 
interest  and  amuse  her.  In  one  corner  a  newly  im- 
ported German  with  an  Orson-like  head,  thumb-ring, 
and  the  fi-agrance  of  many  meerschaums  still  hovering 
about  him,  was  hammering  away  upon  some  disputed 
point  with  a  scientific  Frenchman,  whose  national 
politeness  was  only  equalled  by  his  national  volubility. 
A  prominent  statesman  was  talking  with  a  fugitive 
slave ;  a  young  poet  getting  inspiration  from  the  face 
and  voice  of  a  handsome  girl  who  had  earned  the  right 
to  put  M.  D.  to  her  name.  An  old  philosopher  was  calm- 
ing the  ardor  of  several  rampant  radicals,  and  a  famous 


WHICH'}  313 

singer  was  comforting  the  heart  of  an  Itahan  exile  by 
talking  politics  in  his  own  melodious  tongue. 

There  were  plenty  of  reformers :  some  as  truculent 
as  Martin  Luther  ;  others  as  beaming  and  benevo- 
lent as  if  the  pelting  of  the  world  had  only  mellowed 
them,  and  no  amount  of  denunciatory  thunder  could 
sour  the  milk  of  human  kindness  creaming  in  their 
happy  hearts.  There  were  eager  women  just  beginning 
their  protest  against  the  wrongs  that  had  wrecked  their 
peace;  subdued  women  who  had  been  worsted  in  the 
unequal  conflict  and  given  it  up  ;  resolute  women  with 
"  No  surrender "  written  all  over  their  strong-minded 
countenances  ;  and  sweet,  hopeful  women,  whose  faith 
in  God  and  man  nothing  could  shake  oi*  sadden. 

But  to  Christie  there  was  only  one  face  worth  look- 
ing at  till  David  came,  and  that  was  Mr.  Power's  ;  for 
he  was  a  perfect  host,  and  pervaded  the  rooms  like  a 
genial  atmosphere,  using  the  welcome  of  eye  and  hand 
which  needs  no  language  to  interpret  it,  giving  to  each 
guest  the  intellectual  fare  he  loved,  and  making  their 
enjoyment  his  owm. 

"  Bless  the  dear  man  !  what  should  we  all  do  without 
him  ?  "  thought  Christie,  following  him  with  grateful 
eyes,  as  he  led  an  awkw^ard  youth  in  rusty  black  to  the 
statesman  whom  it  had  been  the  desire  of  his  ambi- 
tious soul  to  meet. 

The  next  minute  she  proved  that  she  at  least  could 
do  without  the  "  dear  man  ; "  for  David  entered  the 
room,  and  she  forgot  all  about  him.  Here  and  at 
church  were  the  only  places  where  the  friends  had 
met  during  these  months,  except  one  or  two  short 
14 


314  WORK. 

visits  to  the  little  house  in  the  lane  when  Christie 
devoted  herself  to  jMrs.  Sterling. 

David  was  quite  unchanged,  though  once  or  twice 
Christie  fancied  he  seemed  ill  at  ease  with  her,  and  im- 
mediately tormented  herself  with  the  idea  that  some 
alteration  in  her  own  manner  had  perplexed  or  offended 
him.  She  did  her  best  to  be  as  frank  and  cordial  as  in 
the  happy  old  days ;  but  it  was  impossible,  and  she  soon 
gave  it  up,  assuming  in  the  place  of  that  former  friend- 
liness, a  grave  and  quiet  manner  which  would  have  led 
a  wiser  man  than  David  to  believe  her  busied  with  her 
own  affairs  and  rather  indifferent  to  every  thing  else. 

If  he  had  known  how  her  heart  danced  in  her  bosom, 
her  eyes  brightened,  and  all  the  world  became  endur- 
able, the  moment  he  aj>peared,  he  would  not  have  been 
so  long  in  joining  her,  nor  have  doubted  what  welcome 
awaited  him. 

As  it  was,  he  stop])ed  to  speak  to  his  host ;  and,  before 
he  reappeared,  Christie  had  found  the  excitement  she 
had  been  longing  for. 

"  Now  some  bore  will  keep  him  an  hour,  and  the 
evening  is  so  short,"  she  thought,  with  a  pang  of  disap- 
pointment ;  and,  turning  her  eyes  away  from  the  crowd 
which  had  swallowed  up  her  heart's  desire,  they  fell 
upon  a  gentleman  just  entering,  and  remained  fixed 
with  an  expression  of  unutterable  surprise ;  for  there, 
elegant,  calm,  and  cool  as  ever,  stood  Mr.  Fletcher. 

"  How  came  he  here  ?  "  was  her  first  question  ;  "  How 
will  he  behave  to  me  ? "  her  second.  As  she  could 
answer  neither,  she  composed  herself  as  fast  as  possible, 
resolving  to  let  matters  take  their  o^\ti  course,  and 
feeling  in  the  mood  for  an  encounter  with  a  discarded 


WEIGH  7  315 

lover,  as  she  took  a  womanish  satisfaction  in  remember- 
ing that  the  very  personable  gentleman  before  her  had 
once  been. 

Mr.  Fletcher  and  his  companion  passed  on  to  find 
their  host ;  and,  with  a  glance  at  the  mirror  opposite, 
which  showed  her  that  the  surprise  of  the  moment  had 
given  her  the  color  she  lacked  before,  Christie  occupied 
herself  with  a  portfolio  of  engravings,  feeling  very- 
much  as  she  used  to  feel  when  waiting  at  a  side  scene 
for  her  cue. 

She  had  not  long  to  wait  before  Mr.  Power  came  up, 
and  presented  the  stranger;  for  such  he  fancied  him, 
never  having  heard  a  certain  episode  in  Christie's  life. 
Mr.  Fletcher  bowed,  with  no  sign  of  recognition  in  his 
face,  and  began  to  talk  in  the  smooth,  low  voice  she 
remembered  so  well.  For  the  moment,  through  sheer 
surprise,  Christie  listened  and  replied  as  any  young 
lady  might  have  done  to  a  new-made  acquaintance. 
But  very  soon  she  felt  sure  that  Mr.  Fletcher  intended 
to  ignore  the  past ;  and,  finding  her  on  a  higher  round 
of  the  social  ladder,  to  accept  the  fact  and  begin  again. 

At  first  she  was  angry,  then  amused,  then  interested 
in  the  somewhat  dramatic  turn  affairs  were  taking,  and 
very  wisely  decided  to  meet  him  on  his  own  ground, 
and  see  what  came  of  it. 

In  the  midst  of  an  apparently  absorbing  discussion 
of  one  of  Raphael's  most  insipid  Madonnas,  she  was 
conscious  that  David  had  approached,  paused,  and 
was  scrutinizing  her  companion  with  unusual  interest. 
Seized  with  a  sudden  desire  to  see  the  two  men  to- 
gether, Christie  beckoned ;  and  when  he  obeyed,  she 
introduced  him,  drew  him  into  the  conversation,  and 


316  WORK. 

then  left  him  in  the  hirch  by  falling  silent  and  taking 
notes  while  they  talked. 

If  she  wished  to  wean  her  heart  from  David  by  seeing 
him  at  a  disadvantage,  she  could  have  devised  no  better 
way ;  for,  though  a  very  feminine  test,  it  answered  the 
purpose  excellently. 

Mr.  Fletcher  was  a  handsome  man,  and  just  then 
looked  his  best.  Improved  health  gave  energy  and 
color  to  his  formerly  sallow,  listless  face :  the  cold  eyes 
were  softer,  the  hard  mouth  suave  and  smiling,  and 
about  the  whole  man  there  was  that  indescribable 
something  which  often  proves  more  attractive  than 
w^orth  or  wisdom  to  keener-sighted  women  than  Christie. 
Never  had  he  talked  better;  for,  as  if  he  suspected 
what  was  in  the  mind  of  one  hearer,  he  exerted  himself 
to  be  as  brilliant  as  j^ossible,  and  succeeded  admu-ably. 

David  never  appeared  so  ill,  for  he  had  no  clew  to 
the  little  cc  medy  being  played  before  him ;  and  long 
seclusion  and  natural  reserve  unfitted  him  to  shine 
beside  a  man  of  the  world  like  Mr.  Fletcher.  His 
simple  English  sounded  harsh,  after  the  foreign  phrases 
that  slipped  so  easily  over  the  other's  tongue.  He  had 
visited  no  galleries,  seen  few  of  the  world's  wonders, 
and  could  only  listen  when  they  were  discussed.  More 
than  once  he  was  right,  but  filled  to  prove  it,  for  Mr. 
Fletcher  skilfully  changed  the  subject  or  quenched  him 
with  a  politely  incredulous  shrug. 

Even  in  the  matter  of  costume,  poor  David  was 
worsted ;  for,  in  a  woman's  eyes,  dress  ha«  wonderful 
significance.  Christie  used  to  think  his  suit  of  sober  gray 
the  most  becoming  man  could  wear ;  but  now  it  looked 
shapeless  and  shabby,  beside  garments  which  bore  the 

\ 


wmcu?-  317 

stamp  of  Paris  in  the  gloss  and  grace  of  broadcloth 
and  fine  linen.  David  wore  no  gloves :  Mr.  .Fletch- 
er's were  immaculate.  David's  tie  was  so  plain  no 
one  observed  it  :  Mr.  Fletcher's,  elegant  and  faultless 
enougli  for  a  modern  Beau  Brummel.  David's  hand- 
kerchief was  of  the  commonest  sort  (she  knew  that, 
for  she  hemmed  it  herself) :  Mr.  Fletcher's  was  the  finest 
cambric,  and  a  delicate  breath  of  perfume  refreshed  the 
aristocratic  nose  to  which  the  article  belonged. 

Christie  despised  herself  as  she  made  these  compar- 
isons, and  felt  how  superficial  they  were ;  but,  having 
resolved  to  exalt  one  man  at  the  expense  of  the  other  for 
her  own  good,  she  did  not  relent  till  David  took  advan- 
tage of  a  pause,  and  left  them  with  a  reproachful  look  that 
made  her  wish  Mr.  Fletcher  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

When  they  were  alone  a  subtle  change  in  his  face 
and  manner  convinced  her  that  he  also  had  been  taking 
notes,  and  had  arrived  at  a  flivorable  decision  regard- 
ing herself  Women  are  quick  at  making  such  discov- 
eries ;  and,  even  while  she  talked  witli  him  as  a  stranger, 
she  felt  assured  that,  if  she  chose,  she  might  make  him 
again  her  lover. 

Here  was  a  temptation !  She  had  longed  for  some 
new  excitement,  and  fate  seemed  to  have  put  one  of 
the  most  dangerous  within  her  reach.  It  was  natural 
to  find  comfort  in  the  knowledge  that  somebody  loved 
her,  and  to  take  pride  in  her  power  over  one  man, 
because  another  did  not  own  it.  In  spite  of  her  better 
self  she  felt  the  fascination  of  the  hour,  and  jdelded  to 
it,  half  unconsciously  assuming  something  of  the  "  dash 
and  daring  "  which  Mr.  Fletcher  had  once  confessed  to 
finding  so  captivating  in  the  demure  governess.     He 


818  WORK. 

evidently  thought  so  still,  and  played  his  part  with 
spirit ;  for,  while  apparently  enjoying  a  conversation 
which  contained  no  allusion  to  the  past,  the  memory  of 
it  gave  piquancy  to  that  long  tete-a-tete. 

As  the  first  guests  began  to  go.  Mi-.  Fletcher's  friend 
beckoned  to  him  ;  and  he  rose,  saying  with  an  accent  of 
regret  which  changed  to  one  of  entreaty,  as  he  put  his 
question  r 

"  I,  too,  must  go.     May  I  come  again,  Miss  Devon  ?  " 

"  I  am  scarcely  more  than  a  guest  myself;  but  Mr. 
Power  is  always  glad  to  see  whoever  cares  to  come," 
replied  Christie  rather  primly,  though  her  eyes  were 
dancing  with  amusement  at  the  recollection  of  those 
love  passages  upon  the  beach. 

"  Next  time,  I  shall  come  not  as  a  stranger,  but  as  a 
former  —  may  I  say  friend?"  he  added  quickly,  as  if 
emboldened  by  the  mirthful  eyes  that  so  belied  the 
demure  lips. 

"  Now  you  forget  your  part,"  and  Christie's  pnmness 
vanished  in  a  laugh.  "  I  am  glad  of  it,  for  I  want  to 
ask  about  Mrs.  Saltonstall  and  the  children.  I've 
often  thought  of  the  little  dears,  and  longed  to  see 
them." 

"  They  are  in  Paris  with  their  father." 

"  Mrs.  Saltonstall  is  well,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  She  died  six  months  ago." 

An  expression  of  genuine  sorrow  came  over  Mr. 
Fletcher's  face  as  he  spoke ;  and,  remembering  that  the 
silly  little  woman  was  his  sister,  Christie  put  out  her 
hand  with  a  look  and  gesture  so  full  of  sympathy  that 
words  were  unnecessary.  Taking  advantage  of  this 
•propitious  moment,  he  said,  with  an  expressive  glance 


WHICH'}  319 

and  eflfective  tone  :  "  I  ara  all  alone  now.  You  icill  let 
me  come  again  ?  " 

"Certainly,  if  it  can  give  you  pleasure,"  she  an- 
swered heartily,  forgetting  herself  in  pity  for  his  sor- 
row. 

Mr.  Fletcher  pressed  her  hand  with  a  grateful, 
"  Thank  you  !  "  and  wisely  went  away  at  once,  leaving 
compassion  to  plead  for  him  better  than  he  could  have 
done  it  for  himself. 

Leaning  back  in  her  chair,  Christie  was  thinking  over 
this  interview  so  intently  that  she  started  when  David's 
voice  said  close  beside  her : 

"  Shall  I  disturb  you  if  I  say,  '  Good-night '  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  not  going  to  say  it  at  all," 
she  answered  rather  sharply. 

"  I  've  been  looking  for  a  chance ;  but  you  were  so 
absorbed  with  that  man  I  had  to  wait." 

"  Considering  the  elegance  of  '  that  man,'  you  don't 
treat  him  with  much  respect." 

"  I  don't  feel  much.  What  brought  him  here,  I  won- 
der.    A  French  salon  is  more  in  his  line." 

"  He  came  to  see  Mr.  Power,  as  every  one  else  does, 
of  course." 

"  Don't  dodge,  Christie :  you  know  he  came  to  see 
you." 

"How  do  you  like  him?"  she  asked,  with  treacher- 
ous abruptness. 

"  Not  particularly,  so  far.  But  if  I  knew  him,  I  dare 
say  I  should  find  many  good  traits  in  him." 

"I  know  you  would!"  said  Christie,  warmly,  not 
thinking  of  Fletcher,  but  of  David's  kindly  way  of 
finding  good  in  every  one. 


320  WORK. 

"  He  must  have  improved  since  you  saw  him  last ; 
for  then,  if  I  remember  rightly,  you  found  him  '  lazy, 
cross,  selfish,   and  conceited.' " 

"  Now,  David,  I  never  said  any  thing  of  the  sort," 
began  Christie,  wondering  what  possessed  him  to  be  so 
satirical  and  short  with  her. 

"  Yes,  you  did,  last  September,  sitting  on  the  old 
apple-tree  the  morning  of  your  birthday." 

"  What  an  inconvenient  memory  you  have !  Well, 
he  was  all  that  then ;  but  he  is  not  an  invalid  now,  and 
so  we  see  his  real  self." 

"  I  also  remember  that  you  gave  me  the  impression 
that  he  was  an  elderly  man." 

"Isn't  forty  elderly?" 

"  He  wasn't  forty  when  you  taught  his  sister's  chil- 
dren." 

"  No ;  but  he  looked  older  than  he  does  now,  being 
so  ill.  I  used  to  think  he  would  be  very  handsome 
with  good  health ;  and  now  I  see  I  was  right,"  said 
Christie,  with  feigned  enthusiasm ;  for  it  was  a  new 
thing  to  tease  David,  and  she  liked  it. 

But  she  got  no  more  of  it;  for,  just  then,  the  singer 
began  to  sing  to  the  select  few  who  remained,  and 
every  one  was  silent.  Leaning  on  the  high  back  of 
Christie's  chair,  David  watched  the  reflection  of  her 
face  in  the  long  min-or;  for  she  listened  to  the  music 
with  downcast  eyes,  unconscious  what  eloquent  ex- 
pressions were  passing  over  her  countenance.  She 
seemed  a  new  Christie  to  David,  in  that  excited  mood ; 
and,  as  he  watched  her,  he  thought : 

"She  loved  this  man  once,  or  he  loved  her;  and  to- 
night it  all  comes  back  to  her.    How  will  it  end?" 


WEICH^  321 

So  earnestly  did  he  try  to  read  that  altered  face  that 
Christie  felt  the  intentness  of  his  gaze,  looked  up  sud- 
denly, and  met  his  eyes  in  the  glass.  Something  in  the 
expression  of  those  usually  serene  eyes,  now  darkened 
and  dilated  with  the  intensity  of  that  long  scrutiny, 
surprised  and  troubled  her ;  and,  scarcely  knowing  what 
she  said,  she  asked  quickly : 

"  Who  are  you  admiring  ?  " 

"Not  myself" 

"  I  wonder  if  you  'd  think  me  vain  if  I  asked  you 
something  that  I  want  to  know  ?  "  she  said,  obeying  a 
sudden  impulse. 

"Ask  it,  and  I '11  tell  you." 

"  Am  I  much  changed  since  you  first  knew  me  ?  " 

"Very  much." 

"  For  the  better  or  the  worse  ?  " 

"  The  better,  decidedly." 

"  Thank  you,  I  hoped  so  ;  but  one  never  knows  how 
one  seems  to  other  people.  I  was  wondering  what 
you  saw  in  the  glass." 

"  A  good  and  lovely  woman,  Christie." 

How  sweet  it  sounded  to  hear  David  say  that!  so 
simply  and  sincerely  that  it  was  far  more  than  a  mere 
compUment.  She  did  not  thank  him,  but  said  softly  as 
if  to  herself : 

"  So  let  me  seem  until  I  be  " 

—  and  then  sat  silent,  so  full  of  satisfaction  in  the 
thought  that  David  found  her  « good  and  lovely,"  she 
could  not  resist  stealing  a  glance  at  the  tell-tale  miiTor 
to  see  if  she  might  believe  him. 

She  forgot  herself,  however ;  for  he  was  off  guard  now, 
and  stood  looking  away  with  brows  knit,  lips  tightly 
14*  u 


322  WORK. 

set,  and  eyes  fixed,  yet  full  of  fire  ;  his  whole  attitude 
and  expression  that  of  a  man  intent  on  subduing  some 
strong  impulse  by  a  yet  stronger  will. 

It  startled  Christie;  and  she  leaned  forward,  watching 
him  with  breathless  interest  till  the  song  ceased,  and, 
with  the  old  impatient  gesture,  David  seemed  to  relapse 
into  his  accustomed  quietude. 

"  It  was  the  wonderful  music  that  excited  him :  that 
was  all ; "  thought  Christie ;  yet,  when  he  came  round 
to  say  good-night,  the  strange  expression  was  not  gone, 
and  his  manner  was  not  his  own. 

"  Shall  /  ask  if  I  may  come  again,"  he  said,  imitating 
Mr.  Fletcher's  graceful  bow  with  an  odd  smile. 

"  I  let  him  come  because  he  has  lost  his  sister,  and  is 
lonely,"  began  Christie,  but  got  no  further,  for  David 
said,  "Good-night ! "  abruptly,  and  was  gone  without  a 
Avord  to  Mr.  Power. 

"He's  in  a  hurry  to  get  back  to  his  Kitty,"  she 
thought,  tonnenting  herself  with  feminine  skill.  "  Never 
mind,"  she  added,  with  a  defiant  sort  of  smile  ;  "  I  've 
got  my  Philip,  handsomer  and  more  in  love  than  ever, 
if  I  'm  not  deceived.    I  wonder  if  he  tcill  come  again  ?  " 

Mr.  Fletcher  did  come  again,  and  with  flattering  regu- 
larity, for  several  weeks,  evidently  finding  something 
very  attractive  in  those  novel  gatherings.  Mr.  Power 
soon  saw  why  he  came ;  and,  as  Christie  seemed  to  enjoy 
his  presence,  the  good  man  said  nothing  to  disturb  her, 
though  he  sometimes  cast  an  anxious  glance  toward  the 
recess  where  the  two  usually  sat,  apparently  busy  with 
books  or  pictures ;  yet,  by  their  faces,  showing  that  an 
under  current  of  deeper  interest  than  art  or  literature 
flowed  through  their  intercourse. 


WHICH  ^  323 

Christie  had  not  deceived  herself,  and  it  was  evident 
that  her  old  lover  meant  to  try  his  fate  again,  if  she 
continued  to  smile  Upon  him  as  she  had  done  of  late. 
He  showed  her  his  sunny  side  now,  and  very  pleasant 
she  found  it.  The  loss  of  his  sister  had  touched  his 
heart,  and  made  him  long  to  fill  the  place  her  death 
left  vacant.  Better  health  sweetened  his  temper,  and 
woke  the  desire  to  do  something  worth  the  doing ;  and 
the  sight  of  the  only  woman  he  had  ever  really  loved, 
reawakened  the  sentiment  that  had  not  died,  and  made 
it  doubly  sweet. 

Why  he  cared  for  Christie  he  could  not  tell,  but  he 
never  had  forgotten  her ;  and,  when  he  met  her  again 
witli  that  new  beauty  in  her  face,  he  felt  that  time  had 
only  ripened  the  blithe  girl  into  a  deep-hearted  woman, 
and  he  loved  her  with  a  better  love  than  before.  Ilis 
whole  manner  showed  this ;  for  the  half-careless,  half- 
condescending  air  of  former  times  was  replaced  by  the 
most  courteous  respect,  a  sincere  desire  to  win  her 
favor,  and  at  times  the  tender  sort  of  devotion  women 
find  so  charming. 

Christie  felt  all  this,  enjoyed  it,  and  tried  to  be 
grateful  for  it  in  the  way  he  wished,  thinking  that  hearts 
could  be  managed  like  children,  and  when  one  toy  is 
unattainable,  be  ajDpeased  by  a  bigger  or  a  brighter  one 
of  another  sort. 

"  I  must  love  some  one,"  she  said,  as  she  leaned  over 
a  basket  of  magnifi<3ent  flowers  just  left  for  her  by  Mr. 
Fletcher's  servant,  a  thing  which  often  happened  now. 
"Philip  has  loved  me  with  a  fidehty  that  ought  to  touch 
my  heart.  Why  not  accept  him,  and  enjoy  a  new  life 
of  luxury,  novelty,  and  pleasure  ?     All  these  things  he 


324  WORK. 

can  give  me :  all  these  things  are  valued,  admired,  and 
sought  for :  and  who  would  appreciate  them  more  than 
I?  I  could  travel,  cultivate  myself  in  many  delightful 
ways,  and  do  so  much  good.  Xo  matter  if  I  was  not 
very  happy :  I  should  make  Philip  so,  and  have  it  in  my 
power  to  comfort  many  poor  souls.  That  ought  to  satisfy 
me;  for  w^hat  is  nobler  than  to  live  for  others?" 

This  idea  attracted  her,  as  it  does  all  generous  natures; 
she  became  enamoured  of  self-sacrifice,  and  almost  per- 
suaded herself  that  it  w^as  her  duty  to  marry  Mr. 
Fletcher,  whether  she  loved  liim  or  not,  in  order  that 
she  might  dedicate  her  life  to  the  service  of  poorer, 
sadder  creatures  than  herself 

But  in  spite  of  this  amiable  delusion,  in  spite  of  the 
desire  to  forget  the  love  she  would  have  in  tlie  love  she 
might  have,  and  in  spite  of  the  great  improvement  in 
her  faithful  Philip,  Christie  could  not  blind  herself  to 
the  fact  that  her  head,  rather  than  her  heart,  advised 
the  match ;  she  could  not  conquer  a  suspicion  that,  how- 
ever much  Mr.  Fletcher  might  love  his  wife,  he  would 
be  something  of  a  tyrant,  and  she  was  very  sure  she 
never  would  make  a  good  slave.  In  her  cooler  mo- 
ments she  remembered  that  men  are  not  puppets,  to 
be  moved  as  a  woman's  will  commands,  and  the  uncer- 
tainty of  being  able  to  carry  out  her  charitable  plans 
made  her  pause  to  consider  whether  she  would  not  be 
selling  her  liberty  too  cheaply,  if  in  return  she  got  only 
dependence  and  bondage  along  Avith  fortune  and  a 
home. 

So  tempted  and  perplexed,  self-deluded  and  self- 
warned,  attracted  and  repelled,  was  poor  Christie,  that 
she  began  to  feel  as  if  she  had  got  into  a  labyrinth 


WHICH '^  325 

without  any  clew  to  bring  her  safely  out.  She  longed 
to  ask  advice  of  some  one,  but  could  not  turn  to  Mrs. 
Sterling;  and  what  other  woman  friend  had  she  except 
Rachel,  from  wliom  she  had  not  heard  for  months  ? 

As  she  asked  htrself  this  question  one  day,  feeling 
sure  that  Mr.  Fletcher  would  come  in  the  evening,  and 
would  soon  put  his  fortune  to  the  touch  again,  the 
thought  of  Mrs.  Wilkins  seemed  to  answer  her. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Christie  :  "  she  is  sensible,  kind, 
and  discreet ;  she  may  put  me  right,  for  I  'm  all  in  a 
tangle  now  Avith  doubts  and  fears,  feelings  and  fan- 
cies. I  '11  go  and  see  lier :  that  will  do  me  good,  even 
if  I  don't  say  a  word  about  my  '  werryments,'  as  the 
dear  soul  would  call  tliem." 

Away  she  went,  and  fortunately  found  her  friend 
alone  in  the  "  settin'-room,"  darning  away  at  a  perfect 
stack  of  socks,  as  slie  creaked  comfortably  to  and  fro 
in  her  old  rockhig-chair. 

"I  was  jest  wishin'  somebody  would  drop  in:  it's 
so  kinder  lonesome  with  the  children  to  school  and 
Adelaide  asleep.  Plow  be  you,  dear  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
kins, with  a  hospitable  hug  and  a  beaming  smile. 

"  I  'm  worried  in  my  mind;  so  I  came  to  see  you," 
answered  Christie,  sitting  down  with  a  sigh. 

"  Bless  your  dear  heart,  what  is  to  pay.  Free  your 
mind,  and  I  '11  do  my  best  to  lend  a  hand." 

The  mere  sound  of  that  hearty  voice  comforted 
Clu-istie,  and  gave  her  courage  to  introduce  the  little 
fiction  under  which  she  had  decided  to  defraud  Mrs. 
Wilkins  of  her  advice.  So  she  helped  herself  to  a 
very  fragmentary  blue  sock  and  a  big  needle,  that  she 
might  have  employment  for  her  eyes,  as  they  were  not 


326  WOBK. 

so  obedient  as  her  tongue,  and  then  began  in  as  easy  a 
tone  as  she  could  assume. 

"  AVell,  you  see  a  friend  of  mine  wants  my  advice  on 
a  very  serious  matter,  and  I  really  don't  know  what  to 
give  her.  It  is  strictly  confidential,  you  know,  so  I 
won't  mention  any  names,  but  just  set  the  case  before 
you  and  get  your  opinion,  for  I  've  great  faith  in  your 
sensible  way  of  looking  at  things." 

"  Thanky,  dear,  you  'r  welcome  to  my  'pinion  ef  it 's 
wuth  any  thing.  Be  these  folks  you  tell  of  young?" 
asked  Mrs.  Wilkius,  with  evident  relish  for  the  mys- 
tery. 

*'  Xo,  the  woman  is  past  thirty,  and  the  man  'most 
forty,  I  believe,"  said  Christie,  darning  away  in  some 
trepidation  at  having  taken  the  first  plunge. 

"  My  patience  !  ain't  the  creater  old  enough  to  know 
her  own  mind?  for  I  s'pose  she's  the  one  in  the  quan- 
derry  ? "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wilkins,  looking  over  her 
spectacles  with  dangerously  keen  eyes. 

"  The  case  is  this,"  said  Christie,'  in  guilty  haste. 
"  The  'creature'  is  poor  and  nobody,  the  man  rich  and 
of  good  family,  so  you  see  it 's  rather  hard  for  her  to 
decide." 

"  No,  I  don't  see  nothin'  of  the  sort,"  returned  blunt 
Mrs.  Wilkins.  "  Ef  she  loves  the  man,  take  him  :  ef 
she  don't,  give  him  the  mittin  and  done  with  it.  Money 
and  fi-iends  and  family  ain't  much  to  do  with  the  mat- 
ter accordin'  to  my  view.  It's  jest  a  plain  question 
betwixt  them  two.  Ef  it  takes  much  settlin'  they'd 
better  let  it  alone." 

"  She  doesn't  love  him  as  much  as  she  might,  I  f:incy, 
but  she  is  tired  of  grubbing  along  alone.     He  is  very 


WHICH7  327 

fond  of  her,  and  very  rich ;  and  it  would  be  a  fine  thing 
for  her  in  a  worldly  way,  I  'm  sure." 

"  Oh,  she  's  goin'  to  marry  for  a  livin'  is  she  ?  Wal, 
now  I  'd  ruther  one  of  my  girls  should  grub  the  wust 
kind  all  their  days  than  do  that.  Hows'ever,  it  may 
suit  some  folks  ef  they  ain't  got  much  heart,  and  is 
contented  with  fine  clothes,  nice  vittles,  and  handsome 
furnitoor.  Selfish,  cold,  silly  kinder  women  might  git 
on,  I  dare  say ;  but  I  shouldn't  think  any  friend  of 
your'n  would  be  one  of  that  sort." 

"  But  she  might  do  a  great  deal  of  good,  and  make 
others  happy  even  if  she  was  not  so  herself" 

"  She  might,  but  I  doubt  it,  for  money  got  that  way 
wouldn't  prosper  wal.  Mis'able  folks  ain't  half  so 
charitable  as  happy  ones;  and  I  don't  believe  five  dol- 
lars from  one  of  'em  would  go  half  so  fur,  or  be  half 
so  comfortin'  as  a  kind  word  straight  out  of  a  cheerful 
heart.  I  know  some  thinks  that  is  a  dreadful  smart 
thing  to  do ;  but  i" don't,  and  ef  any  one  wants  to  go  a 
sacrificin'  herself  for  the  good  of  others,  there  's  better 
ways  of  doin'  it  than  startin'  with  a  lie  in  her  mouth." 

Mrs.  Wilkins  spoke  warmly ;  for  Christie's  face  made 
her  fiction  perfectly  transparent,  though  the  good  woman 
with  true  delicacy  showed  no  sign  of  intelligence  on 
that  point. 

"  Then  you  wouldn't  advise  my  friend  to  say  yes  ?" 

"  Sakes  alive,  no !  I  'd  say  to  her  as  I  did  to  my 
younger  sisters  when  their  courtin'  time  come  :  'Jest 
be  sure  you're  right  as  to  there  bein'  love  enough,  then 
go  ahead,  and  the  Lord  will  bless  you.' " 

"  Did  they  follow  your  advice  ?  " 

"  They  did,  and  both  is  prosperin'  in  different  ways. 


328  WORK. 

Gusty,  she  found  she  was  well  on't  for  love,  so  she  mar- 
ried, though  Samuel  Buck  was  poor,  and  they  're  happy 
as  can  be  a  workin'  up  together,  same  as  Lisha  and  me 
did.  Addy,  she  calc'lated  she  wan't  satisfied  somehow, 
so  she  didn't  marry,  though  James  Miller  was  wal  off; 
and  she 's  kep  stiddy  to  her  trade,  and  ain't  never 
repented.  There  's  a  sight  said  and  writ  about  such 
things,"  continued  Mrs.  Wilkins,  rambling  on  to  give 
Christie  time  to  think ;  "  but  I  've  an  idee  that  women's 
hearts  is  to  be  trusted  ef  they  ain't  been  taught  all 
wrong.  Jest  let  'em  remember  that  they  take  a  hus- 
band for  wuss  as  well  as  better  (and  there  's  a  sight  of 
wuss  in  this  tryin'  world  for  some  on  us),  and  be  ready 
to  do  their  part  patient  and  faithful,  and  I  ain't  a 
grain  afraid  but  what  they  '11  be  fetched  through,  always 
pervidin'  they  love  the  man  and  not  his  money." 

There  was  a  pause  after  that  last  speech,  and  Christie 
felt  as  if  her  perplexity  was  clearing  away  very  fast ;  for 
Mrs.  Wilkins's  plain  talk  seemed  to  show  her  things  in 
their  true  light,  with  all  the  illusions  of  false  senti- 
ment and  false  reasoning  stripped  away.  She  felt 
clearer  and  stronger  already,  and  as  if  she  could  make 
up  her  mind  very  soon  when  one  other  point  had  been 
discussed. 

"  I  flmcy  my  friend  is  somewhat  influenced  by  the 
fact  that  this  man  loved  and  asked  her  to  marry  him 
some  years  ago.  He  has  not  forgotten  her,  and  this 
touches  her  heart  more  than  any  thing  else.  It  seems 
as  if  his  love  must  be  genuine  to  last  so  long,  and  not 
to  mind  her  poverty,  want  of  beauty,  and  accomplish- 
ments ;  for  he  is  a  proud  and  fastidious  man." 

"  I  think  wal  pf  him  for  that ! "  said  Mrs.  Wilkins, 


WHICH  7  329 

approvingly  ;  "  but  I  guess  she 's  wuth  all  he  gives  her, 
for  there  must  be  somethin'  pretty  gennywin'  in  her 
to  make  him  overlook  her  lacks  and  hold  on  so  stiddy. 
It  don't  alter  her  side  of  the  case  one  mite  though  ;  for 
love  is  love,  and  ef  she  ain't  got  it,  he  'd  better  not 
take  gratitude  instid,  but  sheer  off  and  leave  her  for 
somebody  else." 

"  Xobody  else  wants  her  ! "  broke  from  Christie  like 
an  involuntary  cry  of  pain  ;  tlien  she  hid  her  fice  by 
stooping  to  gather  up  the  avalanche  of  hosiery  which 
fell  from  her  lap  to  the  floor. 

"  She  can't  be  sure  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Wilkins 
cheerily,  though  her  spectacles  were  dim  with  sudden 
mist.  "  I  know  there 's  a  mate  for  her  somewheras,  so 
she'd  better  wait  a  spell  and  trust  in  Providence.  It 
wouldn't  be  so  pleasant  to  see  the  right  one  come  along 
after  she'd  went  and  took  the  wrong  one  in  a  hurry: 
would  it?  Waitin'  is  always  safe,  and  time  needn't 
be  wasted  in  frettin'  or  bewailin' ;  for  the  Lord  knows 
there's  a  sight  of  good  works  sufferin'  to  be  done,  and 
single  women  has  the  best  chance  at  'em." 

"  I've  accomplished  one  good  work  at  any  rate ;  and, 
small  as  it  is,  I  feel  better  for  it.  Give  this  sock  to 
your  husband,  and  tell  him  his  wife  sets  a  good  example 
both  by  precept  and  practice  to  other  women,  married 
or  single.  Thank  you  very  much,  both  for  myself  and 
my  friend,  who  shall  profit  by  your  advice,"  said  Chris- 
tie, feeling  that  she  had  better  go  before  she  told  every 
thing. 

"I  hope  she  will,"  returned  Mrs.  Wilkins,  as  her 
guest  went  away  with  a  much  happier  face  than  the 
one  she  brought.     "  And  ef  I  know  her,  which  I  think 


330  WORK. 

I  do,  she  '11  find  that  Cinthy  Wilkins  ain't  fur  from 
riorht,  ef  her  experience  is  good  for  any  thing,"  added 
the  matron  with  a  sigh,  and  a  glance  at  a  dingy  photo- 
graph of  her  Lisha  on  the  wall,  a  sigh  that  seemed  to 
say  there  had  been  a  good  deal  of  "  wuss  "  in  her  bar- 
gain, though  she  was  too  loyal  to  confess  it. 

Something  in  Christie's  face  struck  Mr.  Fletcher  at 
once  when  he  appeared  that  evening.  He  had  some- 
times found  her  cold  and  quiet,  often  gay  and  capii- 
cious,  usually  earnest  and  cordial,  with  a  wistful  look 
that  searched  his  fice  and  both  won  and  checked  him 
by  its  mute  appeal,  seeming  to  say,  "  Wait  a  little  till 
I  have  taught  my  heart  to  answer  as  you  wish." 

To-night  her  eyes  shunned  his,  and  when  he  caught 
a  glimpse  of  them  they  were  full  of  a  soft  trouble  ; 
her  manner  was  kinder  than  ever  before,  and  yet  it 
made  him  anxious,  for  there  was  a  resolute  expres- 
sion about  her  lips  even  when  she  smiled,  and  though 
he  ventured  upon  allusions  to  the  past  hitherto  tacitly 
avoided,  she  listened  as  if  it  had  no  tender  charm  for 
her. 

Being  thoroughly  in  earnest  now,  Mr.  Fietcher  re- 
solved to  ask  the  momentous  question  again  without  de- 
lay. David  Avas  not  there,  and  had  not  been  for  several 
weeks,  another  thorn  in  Christie's  heart,  though  she 
showed  no  sign  of  regret,  and  said  to  herself,  "  It  is 
better  so."  His  absence  left  Fletcher  master  of  the 
field,  and  he  seized  the  proj^itious  moment. 

"Will  you  show  me  the.  new  picture?  Mr.  Power 
spoke  of  it,  but  I  do  not  like  to  trouble  him." 

"  With  pleasure,"  and  Christie  led  the  way  to  a 
little  room  where  the  newly  arrived  gift  was  placed. 


WHICH  7  331 

She  knew  what  was  coming,  but  was  ready,  and  felt 
a  tragic  sort  of  satisfaction  in  the  thought  of  all  she 
was  relinquishing  for  love  of  David. 

No  one  was  in  the  room,  but  a  fine  copy  of  Michael 
Angelo's  Fates  hung  on  the  wall,  looking  down  at  them 
with  weird  significance. 

"  They  look  as  if  they  would  give  a  stern  answer 
to  any  questioning  of  ours,"  Mr.  Fletcher  said,  after  a 
glance  of  afiected  interest. 

"  They  would  give  a  true  one  I  fancy,"  answered 
Christie,  shading  her  eyes  as  if  to  see  the  better. 

"  I  'd  rather  question  a  younger,  fnrer  Fate,  hoping 
that  she  will  give  me  an  answer  both  true  and  kind. 
May  I,  Christie?" 

"  I  will  be  true  but  —  I  cannot  be  kind."  It  cost  her 
much  to  say  that ;  yet  she  did  it  steadily,  though  he 
held  her  hand  in  both  his  own,  and  waited  for  her 
words  with  ardent  expectation. 

"  Xot  yet  perhaps,  — but  in  time,  when  I  have  proved 
how  sincere  my  love  is,  how  entire  my  repentance  for 
the  ungenerous  words  you  have  not  forgotten.  I  wanted 
you  then  for  my  own  sake,  now  I  want  you  for  yourself, 
because  I  love  and  honor  you  above  all  women.  I  tried 
to  forget  you,  but  I  could  not ;  and  all  these  years  hnve 
carried  in  my  heart  a  very  tender  memory  of  the  girl 
who  dared  to  tell  me  that  all  I  could  offer  her  was 
not  worth  her  love." 

"  I  was  mistaken,"  began  Christie,  finding  this  wooing 
much  harder  to  withstand  than  the  other. 

"  Xo,  you  were  right :  I  felt  it  then  and  resented  it, 
but  I  owned  it  later,  and  regretted  it  more  bitterly  than 
I  can  tell.   I  'm  not  worthy  of  you;  I  never  shall  be  :  but 


S32  WOJRK. 

I've  loved  you  for  five  years  without  hope,  and  I'll 
wait  five  more  if  in  the  end  you  will  come  to  me. 
Christie,  I  need  you  very  much  ! " 

If  Mr.  Fletcher  had  gone  down  upon  his  knees  and 
poured  out  the  most  ardent  protestations  that  ever  left 
a  lover's  lips,  it  would  not  have  touched  her  as  did  that 
last  little  appeal,  uttered  with  a  break  in  the  voice  that 
once  was  so  proud  and  was  so  humble  now. 

« Forgive  me ! "  she  cried,  looking  up  at  him  with 
real  respect  in  her  face,  and  real  remorse  smiting  her 
conscience.  "  Forgive  me  !  I  have  misled  you  and  my- 
self I  tried  to  love  you  :  I  was  grateful  for  your  legard, 
touched  by  your  fidelity,  and  I  hoped  I  might  repay  it ; 
but  I  cannot !  I  cannot !  " 

"Why?" 

Such  a  hard  question  !  She  owed  him  all  the  truth, 
yet  how  could  she  tell  it?  She  could  not  in  words, 
but  her  face  did,  for  the  color  rose  and  burned  on 
cheeks  and  forehead  with  painful  fervor;  her  eyes 
fell,  and  her  lips  trembled  as  if  endeavoring  to  keep 
down  the  secret  that  was  escaping  against  her  Aviil. 
A  moment  of  silence  as  Mr.  Fletcher  searched  for 
the  truth  and  found  it ;  then  he  said  with  such  sharp 
pain  in  his  voice  that  Christie's  heart  ached  at  the 
sound  : 

"  I  see  :  I  am  too  late  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  there  is  no  hope  ?  " 

"  :Nrone." 

"  Then  there  is  nothing  more  for  me  to  say  but 
good-by.     May  you  be  happy." 

"  I  shall  not  be ;  —  I  have  no  hope ;  —  I  only  try  to  be 


WHICm  333 

true  to  you  and  to  myself.  Oh,  believe  it,  and  pity  me 
as  I  do  you  !  " 

As  the  words  broke  from  Christie,  she  covered  up 
her  fiice,  bowed  down  with  the  weight  of  remorse 
that  made  her  long  to  atone  for  what  she  had  done 
by  any  self-humiliation. 

Mr.  Fletcher  was  at  his  best  at  that  moment;  for 
real  love  ennobles  the  worst  and  weakest  while  it 
lasts :  but  he  could  not  resist  the  temptation  tliat  con- 
fession offered  him.  He  tried  to  be  generous,  but  tlie 
genuine  virtue  was  not  in  him ;  he  did  want  Christie 
very  much,  and  the  knowledge  of  a  rival  in  her  heart 
only  made  her  the  dearer. 

"  I  'm  not  content  with  your  pity,  sweet  as  it  is :  I 
want  your  love,  and  I  believe  that  I  might  earn  it 
if  you  would  let  me  try.  You  are  all  alone,  and  life  is 
hard  to  you :  come  to  me  and  let  me  make  it  happier. 
I'll  be  satisfied  with  friendship  till  you  can  give  me 
more." 

He  said  this  very  tenderly,  caressing  the  bent  head 
while  he  spoke,  and  trying  to  express  by  tone  and 
gesture  how  eagerly  he  longed  to  receive  and  cherish 
what  that  other  man  neglected. 

Christie  felt  this  to  her  heart's  core,  and  for  a  moment 
longed  to  end  the  struggle,  say,  "  Take  me,"  and  accept 
the  shadow  for  the  substance.  But  those  last  words  of 
his  vividly  recalled  the  compact  made  with  David  that 
happy  birthday  night.  How  could  she  be  his  friend  if 
she  was  Mr.  Fletcher's  wife  ?  She  knew  she  could  not 
be  true  to  both,  while  her  heart  reversed  the  sentiment 
she  then  would  owe  them:  David's  friendship  was 
dearer  than  Philip's  love,  and  she  would  keep  it  at  all 


334  WORK. 

costs.  These  thoughts  flashed  through  her  mind  in  the 
drawing  of  a  breath,  and  she  looked  up,  saying  steadily 
in  spite  of  wet  eyes  and  still  burning  cheeks  : 

"  Hope  nothing ;  wait  for  nothing  from  me.  I  will 
have  no  more  delusions  for  either  of  us :  it  is  weak 
and  wicked,  for  I  know  I  shall  not  change.  Some  time 
we  may  venture  to  be  friends  perhaps,  but  not  now. 
Forgive  me,  and  be  sure  I  shall  suffer  more  than  you 
for  this  mistake  of  mine." 

When  she  had  denied  his  suit  before  he  had  been 
ungenerous  and  angry  ;  for  his  pride  was  hurt  and  his 
will  thwarted  :  now  his  heart  bled  and  hope  died  hard  ; 
but  all  that  was  manliest  in  him  rose  to  help  him  bear 
the  loss,  for  this  love  was  genuine,  and  made  him  both 
just  and  kind.  His  face  was  pale  with  the  pain  of  that 
fruitless  passion,  and  his  voice  betrayed  how  hard  he 
strove  for  self-control,  as  he  said  hurriedly : 

"  You  need  not  suffer :  this  mistake  has  given  me 
the  happiest  hours  of  my  life,  and  I  am  better  for  hav- 
ing known  so  sweet  and  true  a  woman.  God  bless  you, 
Christie !  "  and  with  a  quick  embrace  that  startled  her 
by  its  suddenness  and  strength  he  left  her,  standing 
there  alone  before  the  three  grim  Fates. 


CHAPTER  Xy. 

MIDSUMMER. 

"  1\T^^^  i^  is  all  over.  I  shall  never  have  another 
^  ^  chance  like  that,  and  must  make  up  ray  naind  to 
be  a  lonely  and  laborious  spinster  all  my  life.  Youth 
is  going  fast,  and  I  have  little  in  myself  to  attract  or 
win,  though  David  did  call  me  'good  and  lovely.' 
Ah,  well,  I  '11  try  to  deservQ  his  praise,  and  not  let  dis- 
appointment sour  or  sadden  me.  Better  to  hope  and 
wait  all  my  life  than  marry  without  love." 

Christie  often  said  this  to  herself  during  the  hard 
days  that  followed  Mr.  Fletcher's  disappearance;  a 
disappearance,  by  the  way,  which  caused  Mr.  Power 
much  satisfaction,  though  he  only  betrayed  it  by  added 
kindness  to  Cliristie,  and  in  his  manner  an  increased 
respect  very  comforting  to  her. 

But  she  missed  her  lover,  for  nothing  now  broke  up 
the  monotony  of  a  useful  life.  She  had  enjoyed  that 
little  episode ;  for  it  had  lent  romance  to  every  thing 
while  it  lasted,  even  the  charity  basket  with  which  she 
went  her  rounds ;  for  Mr.  Fletcher  often  met  her  by  ac- 
cident apparently,  and  carried  it  as  if  to  prove  the  sin- 
cerity of  his  devotion.  No  bouquets  came  now ;  no 
graceful  little  notes  with  books  or  invitations  to  some 
coveted  pleasure ;  no  dangerously  delightful  evenings 
in  the  recess,  where,  for  a  time,  she  felt  and  used  the 


336  WORK. 

power  which  to  a  woman  is  so  full  of  subtle  satisfaction  ; 
no  bitter-sweet  hopes;  no  exciting  dreams  of  what 
might  be  with  the  utterance  of  a  word ;  no  soft  uncer- 
tainty to  give  a  charm  to  every  hour  that  passed. 
Nothing  but  daily  duties,  a  little  leisure  that  hung 
heavy  on  her  hands  with  no  hope  to  stimulate,  no 
lover  to  lighten  it,  and  a  sore,  sad  heart  that  would 
clamor  for  its  right;  and  even  when  pride  silenced  it 
ached  on  with  the  dull  pain  Avhich  only  time  and  pa- 
tience have  the  power  to  heal. 

But.  as  those  weeks  went  slowly  by,  she  began  to 
discover  some  of  the  miracles  true  love  can  work.  She 
thought  she  had  laid  it  in  its  grave ;  but  an  angel 
rolled  the  stone  away,  and  the  lost  passion  rose  stronger, 
purer,  and  more  beautiful  than  when  she  buried  it  with 
bitter  tears.  A  spirit  now,  fed  by  no  hope,  warmed  by 
no  tenderness,  clothed  in  no  fond  delusion ;  the  vital 
soul  of  love  which  outlives  the  fjiirest,  noblest  form 
humanity  can  give  it,  and  sits  among  the  ruins  singing 
the  immortal  hymn  of  consolation  the  Great  Musician 
taught. 

Chiistie  felt  this  strange  comfort  resting  like  a  baby 
in  her  lonely  bosom,  cherished  and  blessed  it ;  wonder- 
ing while  she  rejoiced,  and  soon  perceiving  with  the 
swift  instinct  of  a  woman,  that  this  was  a  lesson,  hard 
to  learn,  but  infinitely  precious,  helpful,  and  sustaining 
when  once  gained.  She  was  not  happy,  only  patient ; 
not  hopeful,  but  trusting ;  and  when  life  looked  dark 
and  barren  without,  she  went  away  into  that  inner 
world  of  deep  feeling,  high  tliought,  and  earnest  aspi- 
ration ;  which  is  a  never-failing  refuge  to  those  whose 
experience  has  built  within  them 


MIDSUMMER.  337 

"  Tlie  nunnery  of  a  chaste  heart  and  quiet  mind." 

Some  women  live  fast;  and  Christie  fought  her  battle, 
won  her  victory,  and  found  peace  declared  during  that 
winter:  for  her  loyalty  to  love  brought  its  own  re- 
ward in  time,  giving  her  the  tranquil  steadfastness  which 
comes  to  those  who  submit  and  ask  nothing  but  forti- 
tude. 

She  had  seen  little  of  David,  except  at  church,  and 
began  to  regard  him  almost  as  one  might  a  statue  on 
a  tomb,  the  marble  effigy  of  the  beloved  dead  below ; 
for  the  sweet  old  friendship  was  only  a  pale  shadow 
now.  He  always  found  her  out,  gave  her  the  posy  she 
best  liked,  said  cheerfully,  "  How  goes  it,  Christie  ? " 
and  she  always  answered,  "Good-morning,  David.  I 
am  well  and  busy,  thank  you."  Then  they  sat  together 
listening  to  Mr.  Power,  sung  from  the  same  book, 
walked  a  little  way  together,  and  parted  for  another 
week  with  a  hand-shake  for  good-by. 

Cliristie  often  wondered  what  prayers  David  prayed 
when  he  sat  so  still  with  his  flice  hidden  by  his  hand, 
and  looked  up  with  such  a  clear  and  steady  look  when 
he  had  done.  She  tried  to  do  the  same;  but  her 
thoughts  would  wander  to  the  motionless  gray  figure 
beside  her,  and  she  felt  as  if  peace  and  strength  uncon- 
sciously flowed  from  it  to  sustain  and  comfort  her. 
Some  of  her  happiest  moments  were  those  she  spent 
sitting  there,  pale  and  silent,  with  absent  eyes,  and  lips 
that  trembled  now  and  then,  hidden  by  the  flowers  held 
before  them,  kissed  covertly,  and  kept  like  relics  long 
after  they  were  dead. 

One  bitter  drop  always  marred  the  pleasure  of  that 
15  V 


338  WORK. 

hour ;  for  when  she  had  asked  for  Mrs.  SterUng,  and 
sent  her  love,  she  forced  herself  to  say  kindly ; 

"  And  Kitty,  is  she  doing  well  ?  " 

"  Capitally ;  come  and  see  how  she  has  improved ; 
we  are  quite  proud  of  her." 

"  I  will  if  I  can  find  time.  It 's  a  hard  winter  and 
we  have  so  much  to  do,"  she  would  answer  smiling, 
and  then  go  home  to  struggle  back  into  the  patient 
mood  she  tried  to  make  habitual. 

But  she  seldom  made  time  to  go  and  see  Kitty's 
improvement ;  and,  when  she  did  run  out  for  an  hour 
she  failed  to  discover  any  thing,  except  that  the  girl  was 
prettier  and  more  coquettish  than  ever,  and  assumed 
airs  of  superiority  that  tried  Christie  very  much. 

"  I  am  ready  for  any  thing,"  she  always  said  with  a 
resolute  air  after  one  of  these  visits;  but,  when  the 
time  seemed  to  have  come  she  was  not  so  ready  as  she 
fancied. 

Passing  out  of  a  store  one  day,  she  saw  Kitty  all  in 
her  best,  buying  white  gloves  with  a  most  important 
air.  "  That  looks  suspicious,"  she  thought,  and  could 
not  resist  speaking. 

"  All  well  at  home  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Grandma  and  1  have  been  alone  for  nearly  a  week ; 
David  went  off  on  business ;  but  he  's  back  now  and  — 
oh,  my  goodness !  I  forgot :  I  'm  not  to  tell  a  soul 
yet;"  and  Kitty  pursed  up  her  lips,  looking  quite  op- 
l^ressed  with  some  great  secret. 

"  Bless  me,  how  mysterious !  Well,  I  won't  ask  any 
dangerous  questions,  only  tell  me  if  the  dear  old  lady 
is  well,"  said  Christie,  desperately  curious,  but  too 
proud  to  show  it. 


MIDSUMMER.  339 

"  She  's  well,  but  dreadfully  upset  by  what 's  hap- 
pened ;  well  she  may  be."  And  Kitty  shook  her  head 
with  a  look  of  mingled  mystery  and  malicious  merri- 
ment. 

"Mr.  Sterling  is  all  right  I  hope?"  Christie  never 
called  him  David  to  Ivitty;  so  that  impertinent  little 
person  took  especial  pains  to  speak  familiarly,  some- 
times even  fondly  of  him  to  Christie. 

"  Dear  fellow !  he  's  so  happy  he  don't  know  what  to 
do  with  himself  I  just  wish  you  could  see  him  go 
round  smiling,  and  singing,  and  looking  as  if  he  'd  like 
to  dance." 

"  That  looks  as  if  he  was  going  to  get  a  chance  to  do 
it,"  said  Christie,  with  a  glance  at  the  gloves,  as  Kitty 
turned  from  the  counter. 

"  So  he  is ! "  laughed  Kitty,  patting  the  little  parcel 
with  a  joyful  face. 

"I  do  believe  you  are  going  to  be  married:"  ex- 
claimed Christie,  half  distracted  with  curiosity. 

"  I  am,  but  not  to  Miles.  Xow  don't  you  say  another 
word,  for  I  'm  dying  to  tell,  and  I  promised  I  wouldn't. 
David  wants  to  do  it  himself  By-by."  And  Kitty 
hurried  away,  leaving  Christie  as  pale  as  if  she  had  seen 
a  ghost  at  noonday. 

She  had ;  for  the  thought  of  David's  manying  Kitty 
had  haunted  her  all  those  months,  and  now  she  was 
quite  sure  the  blow  had  come. 

"  If  she  was  only  a  nobler  woman  I  could  bear  it 
better ;  but  I  am  sure  he  will  regret  it  when  the  first 
illusion  is  past.  I  fancy  she  reminds  him  of  his  lost 
Letty,  and  so  he  thinks  he  loves  her.  I  pray  he  may 
be  happy,  and  I  hope  it  will  be  over  soon,"  thought 


340  WORK. 

Christie,  with  a  groan,  as  she  trudged  away  to  carry- 
comfort  to  those  whose  woes  could  be  reheved  by  tea 
and  sugar,  flannel  jDCtticoats,  and  orders  for  a  ton  of 
coai. 

It  teas  over  soon,  but  not  as  Christie  had  expected. 

That  evening  Mr.  Power  was  called  away,  and  she 
sat  alone,  bravely  trying  to  forget  suspense  and  grief  in 
coj^ying  the  record  of  her  last  month's  labor.  But  she 
made  sad  work  of  it ;  for  her  mind  was  full  of  David 
and  his  wife,  so  happy  in  the  little  home  which  had 
grown  doubly  dear  to  her  since  she  left  it.  No  wonder 
then  that  she  put  down  "  two  dozen  children  "  to  Mrs. 
Flanagan,  and  "four  knit  hoods"  with  the  measles; 
or  that  a  great  blot  fell  upon  "  twenty  yards  red  flan- 
nel," as  the  pen  dropped  from  the  hands  she  clasped 
together ;  saying  with  all  the  fervor  of  true  self-abnega- 
tion :  "  I  hope  he  will  be  happy ;  oh,  I  hope  he  will  be 
happy !  " 

If  ever  woman  deserved  reward  for  patient  endeavor, 
hard-won  submission,  and  unselfish  love,  Christie  did 
then.  And  she  received  it  in  full  measure ;  for  the 
dear  Lord  requites  some  faithful  hearts,  blesses  some 
lives  that  seem  set  apart  for  silent  pain  and  solitary 
labor. 

Snow  was  falling  fast,  and  a  bitter  Avind  moaned 
without ;  the  house  was  very  still,  and  nothing  stirred 
in  the  room  but  the  flames  dancing  on  the  hearth,  and 
the  thin  hand  moving  to  and  fro  among  the  records  of 
a  useful  life. 

Suddenly  the  bell  rang  loudly  and  repeatedly,  as  if 
the  new-comer  was  impatient  of  delay.  Christie  paused 
to  listen.    It  was  not  Mr.  Power's  ring,  not  his.  voice  in 


MIDSUMMER.  341 

the  hall  below,  not  his  step  that  came  leaping  up  the 
stairs,  nor  his  hand  that  threw  wide  the  door.  She 
knew  them  all,  and  her  heart  stood  still  an  instant ; 
then  she  gathered  up  her  strength,  said  low  to  herself, 
"  Xow  it  is  coming,"  and  was  ready  for  the  truth,  with 
a  colorless  face  ;  eyes  unnaturally  bright  and  fixed  ;  and 
one  hand  on  her  breast,  as  if  to  hold  in  check  the  rebel- 
lious heart  that  would  throb  so  fast. 

It  was  David  who  came  in  with  such  impetuosity. 
Snow-flakes  shone  in  his  hair ;  the  glow  of  the  keen 
wind  was  on  his  cheek,  a  smile  on  his  lips,  and  in  his 
eyes  an  expression  she  had  never  seen  before.  Happi- 
ness, touched  with  the  shadow  of  some  past  pain ; 
doubt  and  desire ;  gratitude  and  love,  —  all  seemed  to 
meet  and  mingle  in  it ;  while,  about  the  whole  man, 
was  the  free  and  ardent  air  of  one  relieved  from  some 
heavy  burden,  released  from  some  long  captivity. 

"  O  David,  what  is  it  ? "  cried  Christie,  as  he  stood 
looking  at  her  with  this  strange  look. 

"  Xews,  Christie !  such  happy  news  I  can't  find 
words  to  tell  them,"  he  answered,  coming  nearer,  but 
too  absorbed  in  his  own  emotion  to  heed  hers. 

She  drew  a  long  breath  and  pressed  her  hand  a  little 
heavier  on  her  breast,  as  she  said,  with  the  ghost  of  a 
smile,  more  pathetic  than  the  saddest  tears  : 

"  I  guess  it,  David." 

"  How  ?  "  he  demanded,  as  if  defrauded  of  a  joy  he 
had  set  his  heart  upon. 

"  I  met  Kitty,  —  she  told  me  nothing,  —  but  her  face 
betrayed  what  I  have  long  suspected." 

David  laughed,  such  a  glad  yet  scornful  laugh,  and, 
snatching  a  little  miniature   from  his  pocket,  oflered 


342  •  WORK. 

it,  saying,  with  the  new  impetuosity  that  changed  him 
so : 

"  That  is  the  daughter  I  have  found  for  my  mother. 
You  know  her,  —  you  love  her ;  and  you  will  not  be 
ashamed  to  welcome  her,  I  think." 

Christie  took  it ;  saw  a  faded,  time-worn  likeness  of 
a  young  girl's  happy  face ;  a  face  strangely  familiar, 
yet,  for  a  moment,  slie  groped  to  find  the  name 
belonging  to  it.  Then  memory  helped  her;  and  she 
said,  half  incredulously,  half  joyfully  ; 

«  Is  it  my  Rachel  ?  " 

"  It  is  7711/  Letty ! "  cried  David,  with  an  accent  of 
such  mingled  love  and  sorrow,  remorse  and  joy,  that 
Christie  seemed  to  hear  in  it  the  death-knell  of  her 
faith  in  him.  The  picture  fell  from  the  hands  she  put 
up,  as  if  to  ward  off  some  heavy  blow,  and  her  voice 
was  sharp  with  reproachful  anguish,  as  she  cried  : 

"  O  David,  David,  any  thing  but  that !  " 

An  instant  he  seemed  bewildered,  then  the  meaning 
of  the  grief  in  her  face  flashed  on  him,  and  his  own 
grew  white  with  indignant  repudiation  of  the  thought 
that  daunted  her;  but  he  only  said  with  the  stern 
brevity  of  truth : 

"  Letty  is  my  sister." 

"  Forgive  me,  —  how  could  I  know  ?  Oh,  thank 
God  !  thank  God  !  "  and,  dropping  down  upon  a  chair, 
Christie  broke  into  a  passion  of  the  happiest  tears  she 
ever  shed. 

David  stood  beside  her  silent,  till  the  first  irrepress- 
ible paroxysm  was  over ;  then,  while  she  sat  weeping 
softly,  quite  bowed  down  by  emotion,  he  said,  sadly 
now,  not  sternly : 


MIDSUMMER.  343 

"  You  could  7iot  know,  because  we  hid  the  truth  so 
carefully.  I  have  no  right  to  resent  that  belief  of 
yours,  for  I  did  wrong  my  poor  Letty,  almost  as  much 
as  tliat  lover  of  hers,  who,  being  dead,  I  do  not  curse. 
Let  me  tell  you  every  thing,  Christie,  before  I  ask  your 
respect  and  confidence  again.  I  never  deserved  them, 
but  I  tried  to  ;  for  they  were  very  precious  to  me." 

He  paused  a  moment,  then  went  on  rapidly,  as  if 
anxious  to  accomplish  a  hard  task  ;  and  Christie  forgot 
to  weep  while  listening  breathlessly. 

"  Letty  was  the  pride  of  my  heart ;  and  I  loved  her 
very  dearly,  for  she  was  all  I  had.  Such  a  pretty  child ; 
such  a  gay,  sweet  girl ;  how  could  I  help  it,  when  she 
was  so  fond  of  me  ?  We  were  poor  then,  —  poorer 
than  now,  —  and  she  grew  restless  ;  tired  of  hard  work ; 
longed  for  a  little  pleasure,  and  could  not  bear  to  waste 
her  youth  and  beauty  in  that  dull  town.  I  did  not 
blame  my  little  girl ;  but  I  could  not  help  her,  for  I 
was  tugging  away  to  fill  father's  place,  he  being  broken 
down  and  helpless.  She  wanted  to  go  away  and  sup- 
port herself  You  know  the  feeling ;  and  I  need  not 
tell  you  how  the  proud,  high-hearted  creature  hated 
dependence,  even  on  a  brother  who  would  have  worked 
his  soul  out  for  her.  She  would  go,  and  we  had  fiiith 
in  her.  For  a  time  she  did  bravely ;  but  life  was  too 
hard  for  her ;  pleasure  too  alluring,  and,  when  tempta- 
tion came  in  the  guise  of  love,  she  could  not  resist. 
One  dreadful  day,  news  came  that  she  was  gone,  never 
to  come  back,  my  innocent  little  Letty,  any  more." 

His  voice-  failed  there,  and  he  walked  fast  through 
the  room,  as  if  the  memory  of  that  bitter  day  was  still 
unbearable.    Christie  could  not  speak  for  very  pity; 


344  WOBK. 

and  he  soon  continued,  pacing  restlessly  before  her,  as 
he  had  often  done  when  she  sat  by,  wondering  what 
unquiet  spirit  drove  him  to  and  fro : 

"  That  was  the  beginning  of  ray  trouble ;  but  not 
the  worst  of  it :  God  forgive  me,  not  the  worst ! 
Father  was  very  feeble,  and  the  shock  killed  him  ; 
mother's  heart  was  nearly  broken,  and  all  the  happiness 
was  taken  out  of  life  for  me.  But  I  could  bear  it, 
heavy  as  the  blow  was,  for  I  had  no  part  in  that  sin 
and  sorrow.  A  year  later,  there  came  a  letter  from 
Letty,  —  a  penitent,  imploring,  little  letter,  asking  to 
be  forgiven  and  taken  home,  for  her  lover  was  dead, 
and  ^he  alone  in  a  foreign  land.  How  would  you 
answer  such  a  letter,  Christie?" 

"  As  you  did  ;  saying :  '  Come  home  and  let  us  com- 
fort you.'" 

"  I  said :  '  You  have  killed  your  father  ;  broken  your 
mother's  heart;  ruined  your  brother's  hopes,  and  dis- 
graced your  family.  You  no  longer  have  a  home  with 
us ;  and  we  never  want  to  see  your  face  again.'  " 

"  O  David,  that  was  cruel !  " 

"  I  said  you  did  not  know  me ;  now  you  see  how 
deceived  you  have  been.  A  stem,  resentful  devil  pos- 
sessed me  then,  and  I  obeyed  it.  I  was  very  proud ; 
fall  of  ambitious  plans  and  jealous  love  for  the  few  I 
took  into  my  heart.  Letty  had  brought  a  stain  upon 
our  honest  name  that  time  could  never  wash  away ; 
had  quenched  my  hopes  in  despair  and  shame ;  had 
made  home  desolate,  and  destroyed  my  fiith  in  every 
thing ;  for  whom  could  I  trust,  when  she,  the  nearest 
and  dearest  creature  in  the  world,  deceived  and  de- 
serted me,     I   could  not  forgive ;   wrath   burned  hot 


MIDSUMMER.  345 

within  me,  and  the  desire  for  retribution  would  not  be 
appeased  till  those  cruel  words  were  said.  The  retri- 
bution and  remorse  came  swift  and  sure;  but  they 
came  most  heavily  to  me." 

Still  standing  where  he  had  paused  abruptly  as  he 
asked  his  question,  David  wrung  his  strong  hands  to- 
gether with  a  gesture  of  passionate  regret,  while  his 
face  grew  sharp  with  the  remembered  suffering  of  the 
years  he  had  given  to  the  atonement  of  that  Avrong. 

Christie  put  her  own  hand  on  those  clenched  ones, 
and  whispered  softly : 

"  Don't  tell  me  any  more  now :  I  can  wait:" 

"  I  must,  and  you  must  listen !  I  've  longed  to  tell 
you,  but  I  was  afraid ;  now,  you  shall  know  every 
thing,  and  then  decide  if  you  can  forgive  me  for  Letty's 
sake,"  he  said,  so  resolutely  that  she  listened  with  a 
face  full  of  mute  compassion. 

"That  little  letter  came  to  me;  I  never  told  my 
mother,  but  answered  it,  and  kept  silent  till  news 
arrived  that  the  ship  in  which  Letty  had  taken  passage 
was  lost.  Remorse  had  been  tugging  at  my  heart ; 
and,  when  I  knew  that  she  was  dead,  I  forgave  her 
with  a  vain  forgiveness,  and  mourned  for  my  darling, 
as  if  she  had  never  left  me.  I'  told  my  mother  then, 
and  she  did  not  utter  one  reproach  ;  but  age  seemed  to 
fall  upon  her  all  at  once,  and  the  pathetic  quietude  you 
see. 

"  Then,  but  for  her,  I  should  have  been  desperate ; 
for  day  and  night  Letty's  face  haunted  me;  LeUy's 
voice  cried  :  '  Take  me  home  ! '  and  every  word  of 
that  imploring  letter  burned  before  my  eyes  as  if  writ- 
ten in  fire.  Do  you  wonder  now  that  I  hid  myself; 
15* 


346  WORK. 

that  I  had  no  heart  to  try  for  any  honorable  place  in 
the  world,  and  only  struggled  to  forget,  only  hoped  to 
expiate  my  sin  ?  " 

"With  his  head  bowed  down  upon  his  breast,  David 
stood  silent,  asking  himself  if  he  had  even  now  done 
enough  to  win  the  reward  he  coveted.  Christie's  voice 
seemed  to  answer  him ;  for  she  said,  with  hearttelt  grati- 
tude and  respect : 

"  Surely  you  have  atoned  for  that  harshness  to  one 
woman  by  years  of  devotion  to  many.  Was  it  this 
that  made  you  '  a  brother  of  girls,'  as  Mr.  Power  once 
called  you  ?  And,  when  I  asked  what  he  meant,  he  said 
the  Arabs  call  a  man  that  who  has  '  a  clean  heart  to 
love  all  women  as  his  sisters,  and  strength  and  courage 
to  fight  for  their  protection  ! '  " 

She  hoped  to  lighten  his  trouble  a  little,  and  spoke 
with  a  smile  that  was  like  cordial  to  poor  David. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  lifting  his  head  again.  "  I  tried  to 
be  that,  and,  for  Letty's  sake,  had  pity  on  the  most  for- 
lorn, patience  with  the  most  abandoned ;  always  remem- 
bering that  she  might  have  been  what  they  were,  if 
death  had  not  been  more  merciful  than  I." 

"  But  she  was  not  dead :  she  was  alive  and  working 
as  bravely  as  you.  Ah,  how  little  I  thought,  when  I 
loved  Rachel,  and  she  loved  me,  that  we  should  ever 
meet  so  happily  as  we  soon  shall.  Tell  me  how  you 
found  her  ?  Does  she  know  I  am  the  woman  she  once 
saved  ?  Tell  me  all  about  her ;  and  tell  it  fast,"  prayed 
Christie,  getting  excited,  as  she  more  fully  grasped  the 
happy  fiict  that  Rachel  and  Letty  were  one. 

David  came  nearer,  and  his  face  kindled  as  he  spoke. 

"  The  ship  sailed  without  her ;  she  came  later ;  and, 


MIDSUMMER.  347 

finding  that  her  name  was  among  the  lost,  she  did  not 
deny  it,  for  she  was  dead  to  us,  and  decided  to  remain 
so  till  she  had  earned  the  right  to  be  forgiven.  You 
know  how  she  lived  and  worked,  stood  firm  with  no 
one  to  befriend  her  till  you  came,  and,  by  years  of 
patient  well-doing,  washed  away  her  single  sin.  If 
any  one  dares  think  I  am  ashamed  to  own  her  now,  let 
him  know  what  cause  I  have  to  be  proud  of  her ;  let 
him  come  and  see  how  tenderly  I  love  her;  how 
devoutly  I  thank  God  for  permitting  me  to  find  and 
bring  my  little  Letty  home." 

Only  the  snow-flakes  drifting  against  the  window- 
pane,  and  the  wailing  of  the  wind,  was  heard  for  a 
moment ;  then  David  added,  with  brightening  eyes  and 
a  glad  voice : 

"  I  went  into  a  hospital  while  away,  to  look  after  one 
of  my  poor  girls  who  had  been  doing  well  till  illness 
brought  her  there.  As  I  was  passing  out  I  saw  a  sleep- 
ing face,  and  stopped  involuntarily :  it  was  so  like  Letty's. 
I  never  doubted  she  was  dead ;  the  name  over  the  bed 
was  not  hers ;  the  face  was  sadly  altered  from  the  happy, 
rosy  one  I  knew,  but  it  held  me  fast;  and  as  I  paused 
the  eyes  opened,  —  Letty's  own  soft  eyes,— they  saw 
me,  and,  as  if  I  was  the  figure  of  a  dream,'she  smiled, 
put  up  her  arms  and  said,  just  as  she  used  to  say,  a 
child,  when  I  woke  her  in  her  little  bed  — 'Why, 
Davy!'  — I  can't  tell  any  more,  — only  that  when  I 
brought  her  home  and  put  her  in  mother's  arms,  I  felt 
as  if  I  was  forgiven  at  last." 

He  broke  down  there,  and  went  and  stood  behind  the 
window  curtains,  letting  no  one  see  the  grateful  tears 
that  washed  away  the  bitterness  of  those  long  years. 


348  WORK. 

Christie  had  taken  up  the  miniature  and  was  looking 
at  it,  while  her  heart  sang  for  joy  that  the  lost  was 
found,  when  David  carae  back  to  her,  wearing  the  same 
look  she  had  seen  the  night  she  listened  among  the 
cloaks.  Moved  and  happy,  with  eager  eyes  and  ardent 
manner,  yet  behind  it  all  a  pale  expectancy  as  if  some 
great  crisis  was  at  hand  : 

"  Christie,  I  never  can  forget  that  when  all  others, 
even  I,  cast  Letty  off,  you  comforted  and  saved  her. 
What  can  I  do  to  thank  you  for  it  ?  " 

"  Be  my  friend,  and  let  me  be  hers  again,"  she  an- 
swered, too  deeply  moved  to  think  of  any  private  hope 
or  pain. 

"  Then  the  past,  now  that  you  know  it  all,  does  not 
change  your  heart  to  us  ?  " 

"  It  only  makes  you  dearer." 

"  And  if  I  asked  you  to  come  back  to  the  home  that 
has  been  desolate  since  you  went,  would  you  come  ?  " 

«  Gladly,  David." 

"  And  if  I  dared  to  say  I  loved  you  ?  " 

She  only  looked  at  him  with  a  quick  rising  light  and 
warmth  over  her  whole  face ;  he  stretched  both  arms 
to  her,  and,  going  to  him,  Christie  gave  her  answer 
silently. 

Lovers  usually  ascend  straight  into  the  seventh 
heaven  for  a  time :  unfortunately  they  cannot  stay 
long ;  the  air  is  too  rarefied,  the  light  too  brilliant,  the 
fare  too  ethereal,  and  they  are  forced  to  come  down  to 
mundane  things,  as  larks  drop  from  heaven's  gate  into 
their  grassy  nests.  David  was  summoned  from  that 
blissful  region,  after  a  brief  enjoyment  of  its  divine 
delights,  by  Christie,  who  looked  up  from  her  new  refuge 
with  the  abrupt  question  : 


MIDSUMMER.  349 

"  What  becomes  of  Kitty  ?  " 

He  regarded  her  with  a  dazed  expression  for  an 
instant,  for  she  had  been  speaking  the  delightful  lan- 
guage of  lips  and  eyes  that  lovers  use,  and  the  old 
tongue  sounded  harsh  to  him. 

"  She  is  safe  with  her  father,  and  is  to  marry  the 
'  other  one '  next  week." 

"Heaven  be  jDraised ! "  ejaculated   Christie,    so   fer- 
vently  that  David  looked   suddenly  enlightened  and 
much  amused,  as  he  said  quickly  : 
"  What  becomes  of  Fletcher  ?  " 

"  He 's  safely  out  of  the  way,  and  I  sincerely  hope 
he  will  marry  some  '  other  one '  as  soon  as  possible." 
"  Christie,  you  were  jealous  of  that  girl." 
"  David,  you  were  jealous  of  that  man." 
Then  they  both  burst  out  laughing  like  two  children, 
for  heavy  burdens  had  been  lifted  off  their  hearts  and 
they  were  bubbling  over  with  happiness. 

"  But  truly,  David,  weren't  you  a  little  jealous  of  P. 
F.  ?  "  persisted  Christie,  feeling  an  intense  desire  to  ask 
all  manner  of  harassing  questions,  wdth  the  agreeable 
certainty  that  they  would  be  fully  answered. 

"  Desperately  jealous.  You  were  so  kind,  so  gay,  so 
altogether  charming  when  with  him,  that  I  could  not 
stand  by  and  see  it,  so  I  kept  away.  Why  w-ere  you 
never  so  to  me  ?  " 

"  Because  you  never  showed  that  you  cared  for  me, 
and  he  did.  But  it  was  wrong  in  me  to  do  it,  and  I 
repent  of  it  heartily ;  for  it  hurt  him  more  than  I  thought 
it  would  when  the  experiment  failed.  I  truly  tried^to 
love  him,  but  I  couldn't." 

"  Yet  he  had  so  much  to  offer,  and  could  give  you  all 


350  WORK. 

you  most  enjoy.  It  is  very  singular  that  you  failed  to 
care  for  him,  and  preferred  a  poor  old  fellow  like  me," 
said  David,  beaming  at  her  like  a  beatified  man. 

"  I  do  love  luxury  and  pleasure,  but  I  love  indepen- 
dence more.  I  'm  happier  poking  in  the  dirt  with  you 
than  I  should  be  driving  in  a  fine  carnage  with  '  that 
piece  of  elegance '  as  Mr.  Power  called  him ;  prouder 
of  being  your  wife  than  his ;  and  none  of  the  costly 
things  he  offered  me  were  half  so  precious  in  my  sight 
as  your  little  nosegays,  now  mouldering  away  in  my 
treasure-box  upstairs.  Why,  Davy,  I  've  longed  more 
intensely  for  the  right  to  j^ush  up  the  curly  lock  that  is 
always  tumbling  into  your  eyes,  than  for  Philip's  whole 
fortune.     Jlay  I  do  it  now  ?  " 

"  You  may,"  and  Christie  did  it  with  a  tender  satis- 
faction that  made  David  love  her  the  more,  though  he 
laughed  like  a  boy  at  the  womanly  whim. 

"  And  so  you  thought  I  cared  for  Kitty  ? "  he  said 
presently,  taking  his  turn  at  the  new  game. 

"  How  could  I  help  it  when  she  was  so  young  and 
pretty  and  fond  of  you  ?  " 

"  Was  she  ?  "  innocently. 

"  Didn't  you  see  it  ?     How  blind  men  are ! " 

«  Xot  always." 

"David,  did  you  see  that  i" cared  for  you?"  asked 
Christie,  turning  crimson  under  the  significant  glance  he 
gave  her. 

"  I  wish  I  had  ;  I  confess  I  once  or  twice  fancied  that 
I  caught  glimpses  of  bliss  round  the  corner,  as  it  were ; 
but,  before  I  could  decide,  the  glimpses  vanished,  and  I 
was  very  sure  I  was  a  conceited  coxcomb  to  think  it 
for  a  moment.     It  was  very  hard,  and  yet  I  was  glad." 


MIDSUMMER.  ^^1 

"Glad!" 

"  Yes,  because  I  had  made  a  sort  of  vow  that  I  'd 
never  love  or  marry  as  a  punishment  for  my  cruelty  to 

Letty." 

"  That  was  wrong,  David." 

«I  see  it  now  ;  but  it  was  not  hard  to  keep  that  fool- 
ish Yow  till  you  came ;  and  you  see  I  've  broken  it 
without  a  shadow  of  regret  to-night." 

"  You  might  have  done  it  months  ago  and  saved  me 
so  much  woe  if  you  had  not  been  a  dear,  modest,  mor- 
bidly conscientious  bat,"  sighed  Christie,  pleased  and 
proud    to   learn   her   power,   yet    sorry   for   the   long 

delay. 

"  Thank  you,  love.  You  see  I  didn't  find  out  why 
I  liked  my  friend  so  well  till  I  lost  her.  I  had  just 
begun  to  feel  that  you  were  very  dear,  —  for  after  the 
birthday  you  were  like  an  angel  in  the  house,  Christie, 
—  when  you  changed  all  at  once,  and  I  thought  you  sus- 
pected me,  and  didn't  like  it.  Your  running  away  when 
Kitty  came  confirmed  my  fear ;  then  in  came  that  — 
would  you  mind  if  I  said  —  confounded  Fletcher?  " 
"  Not  in  the  least." 

"Well,  as  he  didn't  win,  I  won't  be  hard  on  him; 
but  I  gave  up  then  and  had  a  tough  time  of  it ;  espe- 
cially that  first  night  when  this  splendid  lover  appeared 
and  received  such  a  kind  welcome." 

Christie  saw  the  strong  hand  that  lay  on  David's 
knee  clenched  slowly,  as  he  knit  his  brows  with  a  grim 
look,  plainly  showing  that  he  was  not  what  she  was 
inclined  to  think  him,  a  perfect  saint. 

"  Oh,  my  heart !  and  there  I  was  loving  you  so  dearly 
all  the  time,  and  you  wouldn't  see  or  speak  or  under- 


352  WORK. 

stand,  but  went  away,  left  me  to  torment  all  three  of 
us,"  cried  Christie  with  a  tragic  gesture. 

"  My  dearest  girl,  did  you  ever  know  a  man  in  love 
do,  say,  or  think  the  right  thing  at  the  right  time  ?  I 
never  did,"  said  David,  so  penitently  that  she  forgave 
him  on  the  spot. 

«  Never  mind,  dear.  It  has  taught  us  the  worth  of 
love,  and  perhaps  we  are  the  better  for  the  seeming 
waste  of  precious  time.  Now  I  've  not  only  got  you 
but  Letty  also,  and  your  mother  is  mine  in  very  truth. 
Ah,  how  rich  I  am  !  " 

"But  I  thought  it  was  all  over  with  me  when  I 
found  Letty,  because,  seeing  no  more  of  Fletcher,  I 
had  begun  to  hope  again,  and  when  she  came  back 
to  me  I  knew  my  home  must  be  hers,  yet  feared  you 
would  refuse  to  share  it  if  you  knew  all.  You  are 
very  proud,  and  the  purest-hearted  woman  I  ever 
knew." 

"  And  if  I  had  refused,  you  would  have  let  me  go  and 
held  fast  to  Letty?" 

"  Yes,  for  I  owe  her  every  thing." 

"  You  should  have  known  me  better,  David.  But  I 
don't  refuse,  and  there  is  no  need  to  choose  between 
us." 

"  No,  thank  heaven,  and  you,  my  Christie  !  Imagine 
what  I  felt  when  Letty  told  me  all  you  had  been  to 
her.  If  any  thing  could  make  me  love  you  more  than  I 
now  do,  it  would  be  that !  No,  don't  hide  your  face  ; 
I  like  to  see  it  blush  and  smile  and  turn  to  me  confid- 
in2:ly,  as  it  has  not  done  all  these  long  months." 

"  Did  Letty  tell  you  what  she  had  done  for  me  ?  " 
asked  Christie,  looking  more  like  a  rose  than  ever  Kitty 
did. 


MIDSUMMER.  ^53 

"  She  told^me  every  thing,  and  wished  me  to  tell  you 
all  her  story,  even  the  saddest  part  of  it.  I  'd  better 
do  it  now  before  you  meet  again." 

He  paused  as  if  the  tale  was  hard  to  tell ;  but  Chris- 
tie put  her  hand  on  his  lips  saying  softly : 

"  Never  tell  it ;  let  her  past  be  as  sacred  as  if  she 
were  dead.  She  was  my  friend  when  I  had  no  other : 
she  is  my  dear  sister  now,  and  nothing  can  ever  change 
the  love  between  us." 

If  she  had  thought  David's  face  beautiful  with  grati- 
tude when  he  told  the  happier  portions  of  that  history, 
she  found  it  doubly  so  when  she  spared  him  the  recital 
of  its  darkest  chapter,  and  bade  him  "  leave  the  rest  to 
silence." 

"Now  you  will  come  home?  Mother  wants  you, 
Letty  longs  for  you,  and  I  have  got  and  mean  to  keep 
you  all  my  life,  God  willing !  " 

"  I  'd  better  die  to-night  and  make  a  blessed  end,  for 
so  much  happiness  is  hardly  possible  in  a  world  of 
woe,"  answered  Christie  to  that  fervent  invitation. 

"  We  shall  be  married  very  soon,  take  a  wedding 
trip  to  any  part  of  the  world  you  like,  and  our  honey- 
moon will  last  for  ever,  Mrs.  Sterling,  Jr.,"  said  David, 
soaring  away  into  the  future  with  sublime  disregard  of 
obstacles. 

Before  Christie  could  get  her  breath  after  that  some- 
what startling  announcement,  Mr.  Power  appeared, 
took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance,  gave  them  a  smile  that 
was  a  benediction,  and  said  heartily  as  he  offered  a  hand 
to  each : 

"  Xow  I  'm  satisfied ;  I  've  watched  and  waited  pa- 
tiently, and   after  many  tribulations  you  have   found 


354  WOBK. 

each  other  in  good  time ; "  then  with  a  meaning  look 
at  Christie  he  added  slyly :  "  But  David  is  *  no  hero ' 
you  know." 

She  remembered  the  chat  in  the  strawbeiTy  bed» 
lau<^hed,  and  colored  brightly,  as  she  answered  with  her 
hand  trustfully  in  David's,  her  eyes  full  of  loving  pride 
and  reverence  lifted  to  his  face : 

"  I  've  seen  both  sides  of  the  medal  now,  and  found  it 
'  sterling  gold.'  Hero  or  not  I  'm  content ;  for,  though 
he  *  loves  his  mother  much,'  there  is  room  in  his  heart 
for  me  too ;  his  '  old  books '  have  given  him  something 
better  than  learning,  and  he  has  con\'inced  me  that 
'  double  flowers '  are  loveliest  and  best." 


CHAPTER  XYI. 


MUSTERED    IX. 


CHRISTIE'S  return  was  a  very  happy  one,  and 
could  not  well  be  otherwise  with  a  mother,  sister, 
and  lover  to  welcome  her  back.  Her  meeting  with 
Letty  was  indescribably  tender,  and  the  days  that  fol- 
lowed were  pretty  equally  divided  between  her  and  her 
brother,  in  nursing  the  one  and  loving  the  other. 
There  was  no  cloud  now  in  Christie's  sky,  and  all  the 
world  seemed  in  bloom.  But  even  while  she  enjoyed 
every  hour  of  life,  and  begrudged  the  time  given  to 
sleep,  she  felt  as  if  the  dream  was  too  beautiful  to  last, 
and  often  said : 

*'  Something  will  happen  :  such  perfect  happiness  is 
not  possible  in  this  world." 

"  Then  let  us  make  the  most  of  it,"  David  would 
reply,  wisely  bent  on  getting  his  honey  while  he  could, 
and  not  borrowing  trouble  for  the  moiTOW. 

So  Christie  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  her  "  prophetic 
soul,"  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  blissful  holiday  that 
had  come  at  last.  Even  while  March  winds  were  howl- 
ing outside,  she  blissfully  "  poked  in  the  dirt "  with 
David  in  the  green-house,  put  up  the  curly  lock  as 
often  as  she  liked,  and  told  him  she  loved  him  a  dozen 


356  WORK. 

times  a  day,  not  in  words,  but  in  silent  ways,  that 
touched  liirn  to  the  heart,  and  made  his  future  look  so 
bright  he  hardly  dared  believe  in  it. 

A  happier  man  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  find 
just  then ;  all  his  burdens  seemed  to  have  frdlen  off, 
and  his  spirits  rose  again  with  an  elasticity  which  sur- 
prised even  those  who  knew  him  best.  Christie  often 
stopped  to  watch  and  wonder  if  the  blithe  young  man 
who  went  whistling  and  singing  about  the  house,  often 
stopping  to  kiss  somebody,  to  joke,  or  to  exclaim  with 
a  beaming  face  like  a  child  at  a  party :  "  Isn't  eAery 
thing  beautiful?"  could  be  the  sober,  steady  David, 
who  used  to  plod  to  and  fro  with  his  shoulders  a  little 
bent,  and  the  absent  look  in  his  eyes  that  told  of 
thoughts  above  or  beyond  the  daily  task. 

It  was  good  to  see  his  mother  rejoice  over  him  with 
an  exceeding  great  joy ;  it  was  better  still  to  see  Letty's 
eyes  follow  him  with  unspeakable  love  and  gratitude  in 
their  soft  depths ;  but  it  was  best  of  all  to  see  Christie 
marvel  and  exult  over  the  discoveries  she  made  :  for, 
though  she  had  known  David  for  a  year,  she  had  never 
seen  the  real  man  till  now. 

"  Davy,  you  are  a  humbug,"  she  said  one  day  when 
they  were  making  up  a  bridal  order  in  the  green- 
house. 

"  I  told  you  so,  but  you  wouldn't  believe  it,"  he  an- 
swered, using  long  stemmed  rose-buds  with  as  prodigal 
a  hand  as  if  the  wedding  was  to  be  his  own. 

"  I  thought  I  was  going  to  marry  a  quiet,  studious, 
steady-going  man  ;  and  here  I  find  myself  engaged  to 
a  romantic  youth  who  flies  about  in  the  most  undigni- 
fied manner,  embraces  people  behind  doors,  sings  opera 


MUSTERED  IN.  357 

airs,  —  very  much  out  of  tune  by  the  way,  —  and  con- 
ducts himself  more  Uke  an  infatuated  Claude  Melnotte, 
than  a  respectable  gentleman  on  the  awful  verge  of 
matrimony.  Nothing  can  surprise  me  now:  I'm  pre- 
pared for  any  thing,  even  the  sight  of  my  Quakerish 
lover  dancing  a  jig." 

"  Just  what  I  've  been  longing  to  do !  Come  and 
take  a  turn  :  it  will  do  you  good ;  "  and,  to  Christie's 
utter  amazement,  David  caught  her  round  the  waist 
and  waltzed  her  down  the  boarded  walk  with  a  speed 
and  skill  that  caused  less  havoc  among  the  flower-pots 
than  one  would  imagine,  and  seemed  to  delight  the 
plants,  who  rustled  and  nodded  as  if  applauding  the 
dance  of  the  finest  double  flower  that  had  ever  blos- 
somed in  their  midsl 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Christie,"  he  said,  when  he  had 
landed  her  breathless  and  laughing  at  the  other  end. 
"  I  feel  like  a  boy  out  of  school,  or  rather  a  man  out  of 
prison,  and  must  enjoy  my  liberty  in  someway.  I'm 
not  a  talker,  you  know  ;  and,  as  the  laws  of  gravitation 
forbid  my  soaring  aloft  anywhere,  I  can  only  express 
my  joyfully  uplifted  state  of  mind  by  'prancing,'  as 
you  call  it.  Never  mind  dignity :  let 's  be  happy,  and 
by  and  by  I  '11  sober  down." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  ;  I  love  to  see  you  so  young 
and  happy,  only  you  are  not  the  old  David,  and  I've 
got  to  get  acquair^ed  with  the  new  one." 

"  I  hope  you  '11  like  him  better  than  the  frost-bitten 
*  old  David'  you  first  knew  and  were  kind  enough  to 
love.  Mother  says  I  've  gone  back  to  the  time  before 
we  lost  Letty,  and  I  sometimes  feel  as  if  I  had.  In 
that  case  you  will  find  me  a  proud,  impetuous,  am- 
bitious fellow,  Christie,  and  how  will  that  suit  ?  " 


358  WORK. 

"  Excellently ;  I  like  pride  of  your  sort ;  impetuosity 
becomes  you,  for  you  have  learned  to  control  it  if  need 
be ;  and  the  ambition  is  best  of  all.  I  always  won- 
dered at  your  want  of  it,  and  longed  to  stir  you  up ; 
for  you  did  not  seem  the  sort  of  man  to  be  contented 
with  mere  creature  comforts  when  there  are  so  many 
fine  things  men  may  do.  What  shall  you  choose, 
Davy  ?  " 

"I  shall  wait  for  time  to  show.  The  sap  is  all  astir 
in  me,  and  I  'm  ready  for  my  chance.  I  don't  know 
what  it  is,  but  I  feel  very  sure  that  some  work  will  be 
given  me  into  which  I  can  put  my  whole  heart  and 
soul  and  strength.  I  spoilt  my  first  chance ;  but  I  know 
I  shall  have  another,  and,  whatever  it  is,  I  am  ready  to 
do  my  best,  and  live  or  die  for  it  as  God  wills." 

"  So  am  I,"  answered  Christie,  with  a  voice  as  earnest 
and  a  face  as  full  of  hopeful  resolution  as  his  own. 

Then  they  went  back  to  their  work,  little  dreaming 
as  they  tied  roses  and  twined  smilax  wreaths,  how  near 
that  other  chance  was ;  how  soon  they  w^ere  to  be  called 
upon  to  keep  their  promise,  and  how  well  each  was  to 
perform  the  part  given  them  in  life  and  death. 

The  gun  fired  one  April  morning  at  Fort  Sumter 
told  many  men  like  David  what  their  work  was  to  be, 
and  showed  many  women  like  Christie  a  new  right  to 
claim  and  bravely  prove  their  fitness  to  possess.* 

No  need  to  repeat  the  story  of  the  war  begun  that 
day ;  it  has  been  so  often  told  that  it  will  only  be 
touched  upon  here  as  one  of  the  experiences  of  Chris- 
tie's life,  an  experience  which  did  for  her  what  it  did 
for  all  who  took  a  share  in  it,  and  loyally  acted  their 
part. 


MUSTERED  IN.  359 

The  North  woke  up  from  its  prosperous  lethargy,  and 
began  to  stir  with  the  ominous  hum  of  bees  when  rude 
hands  shake  the  hive.  Rich  and  poor  were  proud  to 
prove  that  they  loved  their  liberty  better  than  their 
money  or  their  lives,  and  the  descendants  of  the  brave 
old  Puritans  were  worthy  of  their  race.  Many  said ;  "  It 
will  soon  be  over;"  but  the  wise  men,  who  had  warned 
in  vain,  shook  their  heads,  as  that  first  disastrous  sum- 
mer showed  that  the  time  for  compromise  was  past,  and 
the  stern  reckoning  day  of  eternal  justice  was  at 
hand. 

To  no  home  in  the  land  did  the  great  trouble  bring 
a  more  sudden  change  than  the  little  cottage  in  the 
lane.  All  its  happy  peace  was  broken;  excitement 
and  anxiety,  grief  and  indignation,  banished  the  sweet 
home  joys  and  darkened  the  future  that  had  seemed  so 
clear.  David  was  sober  enough  now,  and  went  about  his 
work  with  a  grim  set  to  his  lips,  and  a  spark  in  his  eyes 
that  made  the  three  women  look  at  one  another  pale 
with  unspoken  apprehension.  As  they  sat  together, 
picking  lint  or  rolling  bandages  while  David  read 
aloud  some  dismal  tale  of  a  lost  battle  that  chilled 
their  blood  and  made  their  hearts  ache  with  pity,  each 
woman,  listening  to  the  voice  that  stirred  her  like  mar- 
tial music,  said  within  herself:  "  Sooner  or  later  he 
will  go,  and  I  have  no  right  to  keep  him."  Each  tried 
to  be  ready  to  make  her  sacrifice  bravely  when  the 
time  came,  and  each  prayed  that  it  might  not  be 
required  of  her. 

David  said  little,  but  they  knew  by  the  way  he 
neglected  his  garden  and  worked  for  the  soldiers,  that 
his  heart  was  in  the  war.     Day  after  day  he  left  Chris- 


360  WOBK. 

tie  and  his  sister  to  fill  the  orders  that  came  so  often 
now  for  flowers  to  lay  on  the  grave  of  some  dear,  dead 
boy  brought  home  to  his  mother  in  a  shroud.  Day  after 
day  lie  hurried  away  to  help  Mr.  Power  in  the  sani- 
tary work  that  soon  claimed  all  hearts  and  hands ;  and, 
day  after  day,  he  came  home  with  what  Christie  called 
the  "  heroic  look "  more  plainly  written  on  his  face. 
All  that  first  summer,  so  short  and  strange ;  all  that 
first  winter,  so  long  and  hard  to  those  who  went  and 
those  who  stayed,  David  worked  and  waited,  and  the 
women  waxed  strong  in  the  new  atmosphere  of  self- 
sacrifice  which  pervaded  the  air,  bringing  out  the  sturdy 
virtues  of  the  North. 

"  How  terrible  !  Oh,  when  will  it  be  over  ! "  sighed 
Letty  one  day,  after  hearing  a  long  list  of  the  dead 
and  wounded  in  one  of  the  great  battles  of  that  second 
summer. 

"  Never  till  we  have  beaten  !  "  cried  David,  throtving 
down  the  paper  and  walking  about  the  room  with  his 
head  up  like  a  war-horse  who  smells  powder.  "  It  is 
terrible  and  yet  glorious.  I  thank  heaven  I  live  to  see 
this  great  wrong  righted,  and  only  wish  I  could  do  my 
share  like  a  man." 

"  That  is  natural ;  but  there  are  plenty  of  men  who 
have  fewer  ties  than  you,  who  can  fight  better,  and 
whose  places  are  easier  to  fill  than  yours  if  they  die," 
said  Christie,  hastily. 

"  But  the  men  who  have  most  to  lose  fight  best  they 
say ;  and  to  my  thinking  a  soldier  needs  a  principle  as 
well  as  a  weapon,  if  he  is  to  do  real  service." 

"  As  the  only  son  of  a  widow,  you  can't  be  drafted : 
that 's  one  comfort,"  said  Letty,  who  could  not  bear  to 
give  up  the  brother  lost  to  her  for  so  many  years. 


MUSTERED  IN.  361 

"  I  shoiilci  not  "wait  for  that,  and  I  know  raotlier 
would  give  her  widow's  mite  if  she  saw  that  it  was 
needed." 

"  Yes,  Davy."  The  soft,  old  voice  answered  steadily  ; 
but  the  feeble  hand  closed  instinctively  on  the  arm  of 
this  only  son,  who  was  so  dear  to  her.  David  held  it 
close  in  both  of  his,  saying  gratefully :  "  Thank  you, 
mother ; "  then,  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  younger  yet  not 
dearer  women,  he  added  with  a  ring  in  his  voice  that 
made  their  hearts  answer  with  a  prompt  "Ay,  ay!" 
in  spite  of  love  or  fear : 

"Now  listen,  you  dear  souls,  and  understand  that,  if 
I  do  this  thing,  I  shall  not  do  it  hastily,  nor  without 
counting  well  the  cost.  My  first  and  most  natural  im- 
pulse was  to  go  in  the  beginning ;  but  I  stayed  for 
your  sakes.  I  saw  I  was  not  really  needed  :  I  thought 
the  war  would  soon  be  over,  and  those  who  went  then 
could  do  the  work.  You  see  how  mistaken  Ave  were, 
and  God  only  knows  when  the  end  will  come.  The 
boys  —  bless  their  brave  hearts! — have  done  robly, 
but  older  men  are  needed  now.  We  cannot  sacrifice  all 
the  gallant  lads ;  and  we  who  have  more  to  lose  than 
they  must  take  our  turn  and  try  to  do  as  well.  You 
own  this ;  I  see  it  in  your  faces :  then  don't  hold  me 
back  when  the  time  conies  for  me  to  go.  I  must  do 
my  part,  however  small  it  is,  or  I  shall  never  feel  as  if 
I  deserved  the  love  you  give  me.  You  will  let  me  go, 
I  am  sure,  and  not  regret  that  I  did  what  seemed  to 
me  a  solemn  duty,  leaving  the  consequences  to  the 
Lord  !  " 

"  Yes,   David,"    sister    and    sweetheart    answered, 
16 


862  WORK. 

bravely  forgetting  in  the  fervor  oif  the  moment  what 
heavy  consequences  God  might  see  fit  to  send. 

"  Good  !  I  knew  my  Spartans  would  be  ready,  and 
I  won't  disgrace  them.  I  've  waited  more  than  a  year, 
and  done  what  I  could.  But  all  the  while  I  felt 
that  I  was  going  to  get  a  chance  at  the  hard  work,  and 
I  've  been  preparing  for  it.  Bennet  will  take  the  garden 
and  green-house  off  my  hands  this  autumn  for  a  year 
or  longer,  if  I  like.  He 's  a  kind,  neighborly  man,  and 
his  boy  will  take  my  place  about  the  house  and  protect 
you  faithfully.  Mr.  Power  cannot  be  spared  to  go  as 
chaplain,  though  he  longs  to  desperately ;  so  he  is  near 
in  case  of  need,  and  with  your  two  devoted  daughters 
by  you,  mother,  I  surely  can  be  spared  for  a  little 
while." 

"  Only  one  daughter  near  her,  David :  I  shall  enlist 
when  you  do,"  said  Christie,  resolutely. 

"  You  mean  it  ?  " 

"  I  mean  jt  as  honestly  as  you  do.  I  knew  you  would 
go :  I  saw  you  getting  ready,  and  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  follow.  I,  too,  have  prepared  for  it,  and  even  spoken 
to  Mrs.  Amory.  She  has  gone  as  matron  of  a  hospital, 
and  promised  to  find  a  place  for  me  when  I  was  ready. 
The  day  you  enlist  I  shall  write  and  tell  her  I  «w 
ready." 

There  was  fire  in  Christie's  eyes  and  a  flush  on  her 
cheek  now,  as  she  stood  up  with  the  look  of  a  woman 
bent  on  doing  well  her  part.  David  caught  her  hands 
in  his,  regardless  of  the  ominous  bandages  they  held, 
and  said,  with  tender  admiration  and  reproach  in  his 
voice : 

"You  wouldn't  marry  me  when  I  asked  you  this 


MUSTERED  IN.  363^ 

summer,  fearing  you  would  be  a  burden  to  me ;  but 
now  you  want  to  share  hardship  and  danger  with  me, 
and  support  me  by  the  knowledge  of  your  nearness. 
Dear,  ought  I  to  let  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  You  loill  let  pje  do  it,  and  in  return  I  will  marry 
you  whenever  you  ask  me,"  answered  Christie,  sealing 
the  promise  with  a  kiss  that  silenced  him. 

lie  had  been  anxious  to  be  married  long  ago,  but 
when  he  asked  Mr.  Power  to  make  him  happy,  a  month 
after  his  engagement,  that  wise  friend  said  to  them  : 

"  I  don't  advise  it  yet.  You  have  tried  and  proved 
one  another  as  friends,  now  try  and  prove  one  another 
as  lovers ;  then,  if  you  feel  that  all  is  safe  and  happy, 
you  will  be  ready  for  the  greatest  of  the  three  experi- 
ments, and  then  in  God's  name  marry." 

"  We  will,"  they  said,  and  for  a  year  had  been  con- 
tent, studying  one  another,  finding  much  to  love,  and 
something  to  learn  in  the  art  of  bearing  and  forbearing. 

David  had  begun  to  think  they  had  waited  long 
enough,  but  Christie  still  delayed,  fearing  she  was  not 
M^orthy,  and  secretly  afflicted  by  the  thought  of  her 
})Overty.  She  had  so  little  to  give  in  return  for  all  she 
received  that  it  troubled  her,  and  she  was  sometimes 
tempted  to  ask  Uncle  Enos  for  a  modest  marriage  por- 
tion. She  never  had  yet,  and  now  resolved  to  ask 
nothing,  but  to  earn  her  blessing  by  doing  her  share  in 
the  great  work. 

"  I  shall  remember  that,"  was  all  David  answered  to 
that  last  promise  of  hers,  and  three  months  later  he 
took  her  at  her  word. 

For  a  week  or  two  they  went  on  in  the  old  way ; 
Christie  did  her  housework  with  her  head  full  of  new 


364  WORK. 

plans,  read  books  on  nursing,  made  gruel,  plasters,  and 
poultices,  till  Mrs.  Sterling  pronounced  her  perfect;  and 
dreamed  dreams  of  a  liappy  time  to  come  when  peace 
had  returned,  and  David  was  safe  at  home  with  all  the 
stars  and  bars  a  man  could  win  without  dying  for  them. 

David  set  things  in  order,  conferred  with  Bennet, 
petted  his  womankind,  and  then  hurried  away  to  pack 
boxes  of  stores,  visit  camps,  and  watch  departing  regi- 
ments with  a  daily  increasing  certainty  that  his  time 
had  come. 

One  September  day  he  went  slowly  home,  and,  seeing 
Christie  in  the  garden,  joined  her,  helped  her  finish  mat- 
ting up  some  delicate  shrubs,  put  by  the  tools,  and 
when  all  was  done  said  with  unusual  gentleness : 

"  Come  and  walk  ca  little  in  the  lane." 

Slie  put  her  arm  in  his,  and  answered  quickly : 

"  You  've  something  to  tell  me :  I  see  it  in  your  face." 

"  Dear,  I  must  go." 

"  Yes,  Davirt." 

"And  you?" 

"  I  go  too." 

"  Yes,  Christie." 

That  was  all :  she  did  not  offer  to  detain  him  now ; 
he  did  not  deny  her  right  to  follow.  They  looked  each 
other  bravely  in  the  face  a  moment,  seeing,  acknowledg- 
ing the  duty  and  the  danger,  yet  ready  to  do  the  one 
and  dare  the  other,  since  they  went  together.  Then 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  as  if  already  mustered  in,  these 
faithful  comrades  marched  to  and  fro,  planning  their 
campaign. 

Xext  evening,  as  Mrs.  Sterling  sat  alone  in  the  twi- 
light, a  tall  man  in  army  blue  entered  quietly,  stood 


MUSTERED  IN.  365 

watching  the  tranquil  figure  for  a  moment,  then  went 
and  knelt  down  beside  it,  saying,  with  a  most  unsol- 
dierly  choke  in  the  voice  : 

"  I  've  done  it,  mother :  tell  me  you're  not  sorry." 
But  the  little  Quaker  cap  went  down  on  the  broad 
shoulder,  and  the  only  answer  he  heard  was  a  sob  that 
stirred  the  soft  folds  over  the  tender  old  heart  that 
clung  so  closely  to  the  son  who  had  lived  for  her  so 
long.  What  happened  in  the  twilight  no  one  ever 
knew;  but  David  received  promotion  for  bravery  in  a 
harder  battle  than  any  he  was  going  to,  and  from  his 
mother's  breast  a  decoration  more  precious  to  him  than 
the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  from  a  royal  hand. 

When  Mr.  Powder  presently  came  in,  followed  by  the 
others,  they  found  their  soldier  standing  very  erect  in 
his  old  place  on  the  rug,  with  the  firelight  gleaming  on 
his  bright  buttons,  and  Bran  staring  at  him  with  a 
perplexed  aspect ;  for  the  uniform,  shorn  hair,  trinmied 
beard,  and  a  certain  lofty  carriage  of  the  head  so 
changed  his  master  that  the  sagacious  beast  was  dis- 
turbed. 

Letty  smiled  at  him  approvingly,  then  went  to  com- 
fort her  mother  who  could  not  recover  her  tranquillity 
so  soon.  But  Christie  stood  aloof,  looking  at  her  lover 
with  something  more  than  admiration  in  the  face  that 
kindled  beautifully  as  she  exclaimed  : 

«  O  David,  you  are  splendid  !  Once  I  was  so  blind 
I  thought  you  plain  ;  but  now  my  '  boy  in  blue '  is  the 
noblest  looking  man  I  ever  saw.  Yes,  Mr.  Power,  I  've 
found  my  hero  at  last !  Here  he  is,  my  knight  without 
reproach  or  fear,  going  out  to  take  his  part  in  the 
grandest  battle  ever  fought.     I  wouldn't  keep  him  if  I 


366  WORK. 

could  ;  I  'ra  glad  and  proud  to  have  him  go  ;  and  if  he 
never  should  come  back  to  me  I  can  bear  it  better  for 
knowing  that  he  dutifully  did  his  best,  and  left  the 
consequences  to  the  Lord." 

Then,  having  poured  out  the  love  and  pride  and  con- 
fidence that  enriched  her  sacrifice,  she  broke  down  and 
clung  to  him,  wee]:)ing  as  so  many  clung  and  wept  in 
those  hard  days  when  men  and  women  gave  their  dear- 
est, and  those  who  prayed  and  waited  sufiered  almost 
as  much  as  those  who  fought  and  died. 

When  the  deed  was  once  done,  it  was  astonishing 
what  sntisfiction  they  all  took  in  it,  how  soon  they  got 
accustomed  to  the  change,  and  what  pride  they  felt  in 
"  our  soldier."  The  loyal  frenzy  fell  upon  the  three  quiet 
women,  and  they  could  not  do  too  much  for  their 
country.  Mrs.  Sterling  cut  up  her  treasured  old  linen 
without  a  murmur;  Letty  made  "  comfort  bags  "  by  the 
dozen,  put  np  jelly,  and  sewed  on  blue  jackets  with 
tireless  industry  ;  w^hile  Christie  proclaimed  that  if  she 
had  twenty  lovers  she  would  send  them  all ;  and  then 
made  j^reparations  enough  to  nurse  the  entire  party. 

David  meantime  was  in  camp,  getting  his  first  taste  of 
martial  life,  and  not  liking  it  any  better  than  he  thought 
he  should  ;  but  no  one  heard  a  complaint,  and  he  never 
regretted  his  "  love  among  the  roses,"  for  he  was  one 
of  the  men  who  had  a  "  principle  as  well  as  a  weapon," 
and  meant  to  do  good  service  with  both. 

It  would  have  taken  many  knapsacks  to  hold  all  the 
gifts  showered  upon  him  by  his  friends  and  neighbors. 
He  accepted  all  that  came,  and  furnished  forth  those  of 
his  company  who  were  less  favored.  Among  these  was 
EUsha  VVilkins,  and  how  he  got  there  should  be  told. 


MUSTERED  IN. 


367 


Efisha  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  enlisting, 
but  Mrs.  Wilkins  was  a  loyal  soul,  and  could  not  rest 
till  t^he  had  sent  a  substitute,  siuoe  she  could  not  go 
herself.  Finding  that  Lisha  showed  little  enthusiasm 
on  the  subject,  she  tried  to  rouse  him  by  patriotic 
appeals  of  various  sorts.  She  read  stirring  accounts  of 
battles,  carefully  omitting  the  dead  and  wounded  ;  she 
turned  out,  baby  and  all  if  possible,  to  cheer  every 
regiment  that  left  ;  and  was  never  tired  of  telling  Wash 
how  she  wished  she  could  add  ten  years  to  his  age  and 
send  him  ofl"  to  fight  for  his  country  like  a  man. 

But  nothing  seemed  to  rouse  the  supine  Elisha,  who 
chewed  his  quid  like  a  placid  beast  of  the  field,  and 
showed  no  sign  of  a  proper  spirit. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Wilkins  resolutely  to  herself, 
"  ef  I  can't  make  no  impression  on  his  soul  I  will  on  his 
stomraick,  and  see  how  that  '11  work." 

Which  threat  she  carried  out  with  such  skill  and 
force  that  Lisha  was  efiectually  waked  up,  for  he  icas 
"partial  to  good  vittles,"  and  Cynthy  was  a  capital 
cook.  Poor  rations  did  not  suit  him,  and  he  demanded 
why  his  favorite  dishes  were  not  forthcoming. 

"  We  can't  afford  no  nice  vittles  now  when  our  men 
are  sufferin'  so.  I  should  be  ashamed  to  cook  'em,  and 
expect  to  choke  tryin'  to  eat  'em.  Every  one  is  sacri- 
ficin'  somethin',  and  we  mustn't  be  slack  in  dom'  our 
part,  —  the  Lord  knows  it 's  precious  little,  —  and  there 
won't  be  no  stuffin'  in  this  house  for  a  consid'able  spell. 
Ef  I  could  save  up  enough  to  send  a  man  to  do  my 
share  of  the  fightin',  I  should  be  proud  to  do  it.  Any- 
way I  shall  stint  the  family  and  send  them  dear  brave 
fellers  every  cent  I  can  git  without  starvin'  the  chd- 
dren." 


368  WOEK. 

"  l^ow,  Cynthy,  don't  be  force.  Things  will  come 
out  all  right,  and  it  ain't  no  use  upsettin'  every  tiling 
and  bein'  so  darned  uncomfortable,"  answered  Mr.  Wil- 
kins  v/ith  unusual  energy. 

"  Yes  it  is,  Lisha.  No  one  has  a  right  to  be  comfort- 
able in  such  times  as  these,  and  this  family  ain't  goin' 
to  be  ef  I  can  help  it,"  and  Mrs.  Wilkins  set  down  her 
flat-iron  with  a  slam  which  plainly  told  her  Lisha  war 
was  declared. 

He  said  no  more  but  fell  a  thinking.  He  was  not  as 
unmoved  as  he  seemed  by  the  general  excitement,  and 
had  felt  sundry  manly  impulses  to  "  up  and  at  'em," 
when  his  comrades  in  the  sho])  discussed  the  crisis  with 
ireful  brandishing  of  awls,  and  vengeful  pounding  of 
sole  leather,  as  if  the  rebels  were  under  the  hammer. 
But  tlie  selfish,  slotliful  little  man  could  not  make  up 
his  mind  to  brave  hardship  and  danger,  and  fell  back 
on  his  duty  to  his  family  as  a  reason  for  keej^ing  safe  at 
home. 

But  now  that  home  was  no  longer  comfortable,  now 
that  Cynthy  had  sharpened  her  tongue,  and  turned 
"ferce,"  and  now  —  hardest  blow  of  all  —  that  he  was 
kept  on  short  commons,  he  began  to  think  he  might  as 
well  be  on  the  tented  field,  and  get  a  little  glory  along 
with  the  discomfort  if  that  was  inevitable.  Nature 
abhors  a  vacuum,  and  when  food  fell  short  patriotism 
had  a  chance  to  fill  the  aching  void.  Lisha  had  about 
made  up  his  mind,  for  he  knew  the  value  of  peace  and 
quietness  ;  and,  though  his  wife  was  no  scold,  she  was 
the  ruling  power,  and  in  his  secret  soul  he  considered 
her  a  very  remarkable  woman.  He  knew  what  she 
'wanted,  but  was  not  going  to  be  hurried  for  anybody ; 


MUSTERED  IN.  oG9 

so  he  still  kept  silent,  and  Mrs.  Wilkins  began  to  think 
she  must  give  it  up.  An  unexpected  ally  appeared 
however,  and  the  good  woman  took  advantage  of  it  to. 
strike  one  last  blow. 

Lisha  sat  eating  a  late  breakfast  one  morning,  ^nth  a 
small  son  at  either  elbow,  waiting  for  stray  mouthfuls 
and  committing  petty  larcenies  right  and  left,  for  Pa 
was  in  a  brown  study.  Mrs.  AVilkins  was  frying  flap- 
jacks, and  though  this  is  not  considered  an  heroical  em- 
ployment she  made  it  so  that  day.  This  was  a  favorite 
dish  of  Lisha's,  and  she  had  prepared  it  as  a  bait  for 
this  cautious  fish.  To  say  that  the  fish  rose  at  once 
and  swallowed  the  bait,  hook  and  all,  but  feebly  ex- 
presses the  justice  done  to  the  cakes  by  that  long-suffer- 
ing man.  Waiting  till  he  had  a  tempting  pile  of  the 
lightest,  brownest  flapjacks  ever  seen  upon  his  plate, 
and  was  watcliinii'  an  extra  bis:  bit  of  butter  melt  luxu- 
riously  into  the  warm  bosom  of  the  upper  one,  with  a 
face  as  benign  as  if  some  of  the  molasses  he  was  trick- 
ling over  them  had  been  absorbed  into  his  nature, 
Mrs.  Wilkins  seized  the  propitious  moment  to  say  im- 
pressively : 

"  David  Sterlin'  has  enlisted  ! " 

"  Sho !  has  he,  though  ?  " 

"  Of  course  he  has !  any  man  with  the  spirit  of  a 
muskeeter  would." 

"  Well,  he  ain't  got  a  family,  you  see." 

"He's  got  his  old  mother,  that  sister  home  from 
furiin'  parts  soraewheres,  and  Christie  just  going  to  be 
married.  I  should  like  to  know  who's  got  a  harder 
family  to  leave  than  that?" 

"  Six  young  cliildren  is  harder :  ef  I  went  fifin'  and 
IG*  X 


370  WOEK. 

drummin'  off,  who  'd  take  care  of  them  I  'd  like  to 
know?" 

"  I  guess  I  could  support  the  family  ef  I  give  my 
mind  to  it ; "  and  Mrs.  Wilkins  turned  a  flapjack  with  an 
emphasis  that  caused  her  lord  to  bolt  a  hot  triangle 
with  dangerous  rapidity ;  for  w^ell  he  knew  very  little 
of  his  money  went  into  the  common  purse.  She  never 
reproached  him,  but  the  fact  nettled  him  now;  and 
something  in  the  tone  of  her  voice  made  that  sweet 
morsel  hard  to  swallow. 

"  'Pears  to  me  you  're  in  ruther  a  hurry  to  be  a 
waddcr,  Cynthy,  shovin'  me  off  to  git  shot  in  this  kind 
of  a  w^ay,"  growled  Lisha,  ill  at  ease.        ' 

"  I  'd  ruther  be  a  brave  man's  widder  than  a  coward's 
wife,  any  day  !  "  cried  the  rebellious  Cynthy :  then  she 
relented,  and  softly  slid  two  hot  cakes  into  his  plate ; 
adding,  with  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  "  Lisha,  dear, 
I  want  to  be  proud  of  my-  husband  as  other  women  be 
of  theirs.  Every  one  gives  somethin',  I  've  only  got 
you,  and  I  want  to  do  my  share,  and  do  it  hearty." 

She  went  back  to  her  work,  and  Mr.  Wilkins  sat 
thoughtfully  stroking  the  curly  heads  beside  him,  while 
the  boys  ravaged  his  plate,  wdth  no  reproof,  but  a  half 
audible,  "  My  Httle  chaps,  my  little  chaps ! " 

She  thought  she  had  got  him,  and  smiled  to  herself, 
even  while  a  great  tear  sputtered  on  the  giiddle  at 
those  last  words  of  his. 

Imagine  her  dismay,  when,  having  consumed  the 
bait,  her  fish  gave  signs  of  breaking  the  line,  and 
escaping  after  all;  for  Mr.  Wilkins  pushed  back  his 
chair,  and  said  slowly,  as  he  filled  his  pipe: 

"  I  'm  blest  ef  I  can  see  the  sense  of  a  lot  of  decent 


MUSTERED  IN.  371 

men  going  off  to  be  fi-oze,  and  starved,  and  blowed  up 
jest  for  them  confounded  niggers." 

He  got  no  further,  for  his  wife's  patience  gave  out; 
and,  leaving  her  cakes  to  burn  bhick,  she  turned  to  him 
with  a  face  glowing  like  her  stove,  and  cried  out : 

"  Lisha,  ain't  you  got  no  heart  ?  can  you  remember 
what  Ilepsey  told  us,  and  call  them  poor,  long-sufferin' 
creeters  names?  Can  you  think  of  them  wretched 
wives  sold  from  their  husbands ;  them  children  as  dear 
as  ourn  tore  from  their  mothers ;  and  old  folks  kep 
slavin  eighty  long,  hard  years  with  no  pay,  no  help,  no 
pity,  when  they  git  past  work  ?  Lisha  Wiikins,  look  at 
that,  and  say  no  ef  you  darst !  " 

Mrs.  Wilkins  was  a  homely  woman  in  an  old  calico 
gown,  but  her  face,  her  voice,  her  attitude  were  grand, 
as  she  flung  wide  the  door  of  the  little  back  bedroom, 
and  pointed  with  her  tin  spatula  to  the  sight  beyond. 

Only  Hepsey  sitting  by  a  bed  where  lay  what  looked 
more  like  a  shrivelled  mummy  than  a  woman.  Ah! 
but  it  was  that  old  mother  worked  and  waited  for  so 
long :  blind  now,  and  deaf;  childish,  and  half  dead  with 
many  hardships,  but  safe  and  free  at  last ;  and  Hepsey's 
black  face  was  flill  of  a  pride,  a  peace,  and  happiness 
more  eloquent  and  touching  than  any  speech  or  sermon 
ever  uttered. 

Mr..  Wilkins  had  heard  her  story,  and  beeii  more 
affected  by  it  than  he  would  confess:  now  it  came 
home  to  him  with  sudden  force;  the  thought  of  his 
own  mother,  wife,  or  babies  torn  from  him  stirred  him 
to  the  heart,  and  the  manliest  emotion  he  had  ever 
known  caused  him  to  cast  his  pipe  at  his  feet,  put  on 
his  hat  with  an  energetic  slap,  and  walk  out  of  the 


872  WORE, 

house,  wearing  an  expression  on  his  usnally  wooden  face 
that  caused  his  wife  to  clap  her  hands  and  cry  exult- 
ingly : 

"  I  thouorht  tliat  would  fetch  him ! " 

Then  she  fell  to  work  like  an  inspired  woman ;  and 
at  noon  a  sumptuous  dinner  "  smoked  upon  the  board ; " 
the  children  were  scrubbed  till  their  faces  shone ;  and 
the  room  was  as  fresh  and  neat  as  any  apartment  could 
be  with  the  penetrating  perfume  of  burnt  flapjacks  still 
pervading  the  air,  and  three  dozen  ruffled  nightcaps 
decorating  the  clothes-lines  overhead. 

"  Tell  me  the  instant  minute  you  see  Pa  a  comin',  and 
I  '11  ^ish  up  the  gravy,"  was  Mrs.  Wilkins's  command,  as 
she  stepped  in  with  a  cup  of  tea  for  old  "  Marm,"  as 
she  called  Hepsey's  mother. 

"  He 's  a  comin',  Ma ! "  called  Gusty,  presently. 

"  No,  he  ain't :  it 's  a  trainer,"  added  Ann  Lizy. 

"  Yes,  'tis  Pa !  oh,  my  eye !  ain't  he  stunnin' ! "  cried 
Wash,  stricken  for  the  first  time  with  admiration  of  his 
sire. 

Before  Mrs.  Wilkins  could  reply  to  these  conflicting 
rumors  her  husband  walked  in,  looking  as  martial  as  his 
hollow  chest  and  thin  legs  permitted,  and,  turning  his 
cap  nervously  in  his  hands,  said  half-proudly,  half- 
reproachfully : 

"  Now,  Cynthy,  be  you  satisfied  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  Lisha !  I  be,  I  be ! "  and  the  inconsistent 
woman  fell  upon  his  buttony  breast  weeping  copi- 
ously. 

If  ever  a  man  was  praised  and  petted,  admired  and 
caressed,  it  was  Elisha'  Wilkins  that  day.  His  wife 
fed  him  with  the  fat  of  the  land,  regardless  of  conse- 


MUSTERED  IN.  378 

quenccs ;  his  eliiLlrcn  revolved  about  him  with  tireless 
curiosity  and  wonder;  his  neighbors  flocked  in  to  ap- 
plaud, advise,  and  admire  ;  every  one  treated  him  with 
a  respect  most  grateful  to  his  feelings ;  he  was  an  object 
of  interest,  and  with  every  hour  his  importance  in- 
creased, so  that  by  night  he  felt  like  a  Commander-in- 
Chief,  and  bore  himself  accordingly.  He  had  enlisted 
in  David's  regiment,  which  was  a  great  comfort  to  his 
wife  ;  for  though  her  stout  heart  never  failed  her,  it  grew 
very  heavy  at  times ;  and  when  Lisha  was  gone,  she 
often  dropped  a  private  tear  over  the  broken  pipe  that 
always  lay  in  its  old  place,  and  vented  her  emotions  by 
sending  baskets  of  nourishment  to  Private  Wilkins, 
which  caused  that  bandy-legged  warrior  to  be  .much 
envied  and  cherished  by  his  mates. 

"I'm  glad  I  done  it;  for  it  will  make  a  man  of 
Lisha ;  and,  if  I  've  sent  him  to  his  death,  God  knows 
lie  '11  be  fitter  to  die  than  if  he  stayed  here  idlin'  his  life 
away." 

Then  the  good  soul  openly  shouldered  the  burden 
she  had  borne  so  long  in  secret,  and  bravely  trudged 
on  alone. 

"  Another  great  battle  ! "  screamed  the  excited  news- 
boys in  the  streets.  "  Another  great  battle ! "  read 
Letty  in  the  cottage  parlor.  "  Another  great  battle ! " 
cried  David,  coming  in  with  the  war-horse  expression 
on  his  face  a  month  or  two  after  he  enlisted. 

The  women  dropped  their  work  to  look  and  listen ; 
for  his  \dsits  were  few  and  short,  and  every  instant  was 
precious.  When  the  first  greetings  were  over,  David 
stood  silent  an  instant,  and  a  sudden  mist  came  over  his 
eyes  as  he  glanced  from  one  beloved  fiice  to  another ; 


374  WOBK. 

then  he  threw  back  his  head  with  the  old  impatient 
gesture,  squared  his  shoulders,  and  said  in  a  loud,  cheer- 
ful voice,  with  a  suspicious  undertone  of  emotion  in  it, 
however : 

"My  precious  people,  I've  got  something  to  tell  you : 
are  you  ready  ?  " 

They  knew  what  it  was  without  a  word.  Mrs.  Ster- 
ling clasped  her  hands  and  bowed  her  head.  Letty 
turned  pale  and  dropped  her  work ;  but  Christie's  eyes 
kindled,  as  she  answered  with  a  salute  : 

"  Ready,  my  General." 

"  We  are  ordered  off  at  once,  and  go  at  four  this 
aftenioon.  I've  got  a  three  hours'  leave  to  say  good- 
by  in.  Now,  let 's  be  brave  and  enjoy  every  minute 
of  it." 

"We  will:  what  can  I  do  for  you,  Davy?"  asked 
Christie,  wonderfully  supported  by  the  thought  that 
she  was  going  too. 

"  Keep  your  promise,  dear,"  he  answered,  while  the 
warlike  expression  changed  to  one  of  infinite  tender- 
ness. 

"  What  promise  ?  " 

"This;"  and  he  held  out  his  hand  with  a  little 
paper  in  it.  She  saw  it  was  a  marriage  license,  and  on 
it  lay  a  wedding-ring.  She  did  not  hesitate  an  instant, 
but  laid  her  own  hand  in  his,  and  answered  with  her 
heart  in  her  face  : 

"I'll  keep  it,  David." 

"  I  knew  you  would ! "  then  holding  her  close  he  said 
in  a  tone  that  made  it  ver)^  hard  for  her  to  keep  steady, 
as  she  had  vowed  she  would  do  to  the  last :  "  I  know 
it  is  much  to  ask,  but  I  want  to  feel  that  you  are  mine 


MUSTERED  IN.  375 

before  I  go.  Not  only  that,  but  it  will  be  a  help  and 
protection  to  you,  dear,  when  you  follow.  As  a  married 
woman  you  will  get  on  better,  as  my  wife  you  will  be 
allowed  to  come  to  me  if  I  need  you,  and  as  my  "  — 
he  stopped  there,  for  he  could  not  add  —  "  as  my  widow 
you  will  have  my  pension  to  support  you." 

She  understood,  put  both  arms  about  his  neck  as  if 
to  keep  him  safe,  and  whispered  fervently : 

"  Nothing  can  part  us  any  more,  not  even  death ;  for 
love  like  ours  will  last  for  ever." 

"  Then  you  are  quite  willing  to  try  the  third  great 
experiment  ?  " 

"  Glad  and  proud  to  do  it." 

"  With  no  doubt,  no  fear,  to  mar  your  consent." 

"  Not  one,  David." 

"  That 's  true  love,  Christie !  " 

Then  they  stood  quite  still  for  a  time,  and  in  the 
silence  the  two  hearts  talked  together  in  the  sweet 
language  no  tongue  can  utter.  Presently  David  said 
regretfully : 

"  I  meant  it  should  be  so  different.  I  always  planned 
that  we  'd  be  married  some  bright  summer  day,  with 
many  friends  about  us  ;  then  take  a  happy  little  journey 
somewhere  together,  and  come  back  to  settle  down  at 
home  in  the  dear  old  way.  Now  it 's  all  so  hurried, 
soiTowful,  and  strange.  A  dull  November  day ;  no 
friends  but  Mr.  Power,  who  will  be  here  soon ;  no  jour- 
ney but  my  march  to  Washington  alone  ;  and  no  happy 
coming  home  together  in  this  world  perhaps.  Can  you 
bear  it,  love  ?  " 

"  Have  no  fear  for  me  :  I  feel  as  if  I  could  bear  any 
thing  just  now;  for  I've  got  into  a  heroic  mood  and  I 


376  WORK. 

mean  to  keep  so  as  long  as  I  can.  I  've  always  wanted 
to  live  in  stirring  times,  to  have  a  part  in  great  deeds, 
to  sacrifice  and  suffer  something  for  a  principle  or  a 
person  ;  and  now  I  have  my  wish.  I  like  it,  David  : 
it's  a  grand  time  to  live,  a  splendid  chance  to  do  and 
suffer ;  and  I  want  to  be  in  it  heart  and  soul,  and  earn  a 
little  of  the  glory  or  the  martyrdom  that  will  come  in 
the  end.  Surely  I  shall  if  I  give  you  and  myself  to 
the  cause ;  and  I  do  it  gladly,  though  I  know  that  ray 
heart  has  got  to  ache  as  it  never  has  ached  yet,  when 
my  courage  fails,  as  it  will  by  and  by,  and  my  selfish 
soul  counts  the  cost  of  my  offering  after  the  excitement 
is  over.  Help  me  to  be  brave  and  strong,  David :  don't 
let  me  complain  or  regret,  but  show  me  what  lies  be- 
yond, and  teach  me  to  believe  that  simply  doing  the 
right  is  reward  and  happiness  enough." 

Christie  was  lifted  out  of  herself  for  the  moment, 
and  looked  inspired  by  the  high  mood  which  was  but 
the  beginning  of  a  nobler  life  for  her.  David  caught 
the  exaltation,  and  gave  no  further  thought  to  any  thing 
but  the  duty  of  the  hour,  finding  himself  stronger  and 
braver  for  that  long  look  into  the  illuminated  face  of 
the  woman  he  loved. 

"I'll  try,"  was  all  his  answer  to  her  appeal ;  then 
proved  that  he  meant  it  by  adding,  with  his  lips  against 
her  cheek:  "I  must  go  to  mother  and  Letty.  We 
leave  them  behind,  and  they  must  be  comforted." 

He  went,  and  Christie  vanished  to  make  ready  for 
her  wedding,  conscious,  in  spite  of  her  exalted  state  of 
mind,  that  every  thing  was  very  hurried,  sad,  and 
strange,  and  very  different  from  the  happy  day  she  had 
so  often  planned. 


MUSTERED  IN.  377 

"  No  matter,  we  are  '  well  on't  for  love,'  and  that  is 
all  we  really  need,"  she  thought,  recalling  with  a  smile 
Mrs.  Wilkins's  advice. 

"  David  sends  you  these,  dear.  Can  I  help  in  any 
way  ? "  asked  Letty,  coming  with  a  cluster  of  lovely 
white  roses  in  her  hand,  and  a  world  of  aflection  in  her 
eyes. 

"  I  thought  he  'd  give  me  violets,"  and  a  shadow 
came  over  Christie's  face. 

"  But  they  are  mourning  flowers,  you  know." 

"  Not  to  me.  The  roses  are,  for  they  remind  me  of 
poor  Helen,  and  the  first  work  I  did  with  David  was 
arranging  flowers  like  these  for  a  dead  baby's  little 
coftin." 

"  My  dearest  Christie,  don't  be  superstitious :  all 
brides  wear  roses,  and  Davy  thought  you  'd  like  them," 
said  Letty,  troubled  at  her  words. 

"  Then  I  '11  wear  them,  and  I  won't  have  fancies  if  I 
can  help  it.  But  I  think  few  brides  dress  with  a  braver, 
happier  heart  than  mine,  though  I  do  choose  a  sober 
wedding-gown,"  answered  Christie,  smiling  again,  as 
she  took  from  a  half-packed  trunk  her  new  hospital  suit 
of  soft,  gray,  woollen  stuff. 

"  Won't  you  wear  the  pretty  silvery  silk  we  like  so 
well  ?  "  asked  Letty  timidly,  for  something  in  Christie's 
face  and  manner  impressed  her  very  much. 

"  No,  I  will  be  married  in  my  uniform  as  David  is," 
she  answered  with  a  look  Letty  long  remembered. 

"  Mr.  Power  has  come,"  she  said  softly  a  few  minutes 
later,  with  an  anxious  glance  at  the  clock. 

"  Go  dear,  I  '11  come  directly.  But  first "  —  and 
Christie  held  her  friend  close  a  moment,  kissed  her  ten- 


378  WORK. 

derly,  and  whispered  in  a  broken  voice :  "  Remember,  I 
don't  take  his  heart  from  you,  I  only  share  it  with  my 
sister  and  my  motlier." 

"  I  'm  glad  to  give  him  to  you,  Christie  ;  for  now  I 
feel  as  if  I  had  partly  paid  the  great  debt  I  've  owed  so 
long,"  answered  Letty  through  her  tears. 

Then  she  went  away,  and  Christie  soon  followed, 
looking  very  like  a  Quaker  bride  in  her  gray  gown  with 
no  ornament  but  delicate  frills  at  neck  and  wrist,  and 
the  roses  in  her  bosom. 

"  No  bridal  white,  dear  ?  "  said  David,  going  to  her. 

"  Only  this,"  and  she  touched  the  flowers,  adding 
with  her  hand  on  the  blue  coat  sleeve  that  embraced 
her:  "I  want  to  consecrate  my  uniform  as  you  do 
yours  by  being  mamed  in  it.  Isn't  it  fitter  for  a  sol- 
dier's wife  than  lace  and  silk  at  such  a  time  as  this  ?  " 

"  Much  fitter  :  I  like  it ;  and  I  find  you  beautiful,  my 
Christie,"  whispered  David,  as  she  put  one  of  her  roses 
in  his  button-hole. 

"Then  I'm  satisfied." 

"  Mr.  Power  is  waiting :  are  you  ready,  love  ?  " 

"  Quite  ready." 

Then  they  were  married,  with  Letty  and  her  mother 
standing  beside  them,  Bennet  and  his  wife  dimly 
visible  in  the  door-way,  and  poor  Bran  at  his  master's 
feet,  looking  up  with  wistful  eyes,  half  human  in  the 
anxious  afifection  they  expressed. 

Christie  never  forgot  that  service,  so  simple,  sweet, 
and  solemn  ;  nor  the  look  her  husband  gave  her  at  the 
end,  when  he  kissed  her  on  lips  and  forehead,  saying 
fervently,  "  God  bless  my  wife ! " 

A  tender  little  scene  followed  that  can  better  be 


MUSTERED  IN. 


379 


imagined  than  described ;  then  Mr.  Power  said  cheer- 

ily: 

"  One  liour  more  is  all  you  have,  so  make  the  most 
of  it,  dearly  beloved.  You  young  folks  take  a  wedding- 
trip  to  the  green-house,  while  we  see  how  well  we  can 
get  on  without  you." 

David  and  Christie  went  smiling  away  together,  and 


X 


X'"' 


Ihkn   they  WKRK  MARRIKD. 


380  WOIiK. 

if  they  shed  any  tears  over  tlie  brief  happiness  no  one 
saw  them  but  tlie  tiowers,  and  they  loyally  kept  the 
secret  folded  up  in  their  tender  hearts. 

Mr.  Power  cheered  the  old  lady,  while  Letty,  always 
glad  to  serve,  made  ready  the  last  meal  David  might 
ever  take  at  home. 

A  very  simple  Jittle  marriage  feast,  but  more  love, 
good-will,  and  tender  wishes  adorned  the  plain  table 
than  is  often  found  at  wedding  breakfasts ;  and  better 
than  any  speech  or  song  was  Letty's  broken  whisper, 
as  she  folded  her  arms  round  David's  empty  chair  when 
no  one  saw  her,  "  Heaven  bless  and  keep  and  bring 
him  back  to  us." 

How  time  went  that  day  I  The  inexorable  clock 
would  strike  twelve  so  soon,  and  then  the  minutes  flew 
till  one  was  at  hand,  and  the  last  words  were  still  half 
said,  the  last  good-byes  still  unuttered. 

"  I  must  go  ! "  cried  David  with  a  sort  of  desperation, 
as  Letty  clung  to  one  arm,  Christie  to  the  other. 

"  I  shall  see  you  soon :  good-by,  my  husband,"  whis- 
pered Christie,  setting  him  free. 

"  Give  the  last  kiss  to  mother,"  added  Letty,  follow- 
ing her  example,  and  in  another  minute  David  was 
gone. 

At  the  turn  of  the  lane,  he  looked  back  and  s\^n]ng 
his  cap ;  all  waved  their  hands  to  him ;  and  then  he 
marched  away  to  the  great  work  before  him,  leaving 
those  loving  hearts  to  ask  the  unanswerable  question : 
"How  -w^ll  he  come  home?" 

Christie  was  going  to  town  to  see  the  regiment  off, 
and  soon  followed  with  Mr.  Power.  They  went  early 
to  a  certain  favorable  spot,  and  there  found  Mi-s.  Wil- 


MUSTEIiED  IN.  381 

kins,  with  her  entire  family  perched  upon  a  fence,  on 
the  spikes  of  which  they  impaled  themselves  at  inter- 
vals, and  had  to  be  plucked  oif  by  the  stout  girl  en- 
("•ao-ed  to  assist  in  this  memorable  expedition. 

"  Yes,  Lisha  's  goin',  and  I  was  bound  he  should  see 
every  one  of  his  blessed  children  the  last  thing,  ef  I 
took  'em  all  on  my  back.  He  knows  where  to  look, 
and  he 's  a  goin'  to  see  seven  cheerful  faces  as  he  goes 
by.  Time  enough  to  cry  byme  by;  so  set  stiddy, 
boys,  and  cheer  loud  when  you  see  Pa,"  said  Mrs. 
Wilkins,  fanning  her  hot  face,  and  utterly  forgetting 
her  cherished  bonnet  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment. 

"  I  hear  drums  !  They  're  comin' ! "  cried  Wash,  after 
a  long  half  hour's  waiting  had  nearly  driven  him  frantic. 

The  two  younger  boys  immediately  tumbled  off  the 
fence,  and  were  with  difficulty  restored  to  their  perches. 
Gusty  began  to  cry,  Ann  Elizy  to  wave  a  minute  red 
cotton  handkerchief,  and  Adelaide  to  kick  delightedly 
in  her  mother's  arms. 

"Jane  Carter,  take  this  child  for  massy  sake:  my 
legs  do  tremble  so  I  can't  h'ist  her  another  minute. 
Hold  on  to  me  behind,  somebod}^,  for  I  miist  see  ef 
I  do  pitch  into  the  gutter,"  cried  Mrs.  Wilkins,  with 
a  gasp,  as  she  wiped  her  eyes  on  her  shawl,  clutched 
the  railing,  and  stood  ready  to  cheer  bravely  when 
her  conquering  hero  came. 

Wash  had  heard  drums  every  five  minutes  since  he 
arrived,  but  this  time  he  was  right,  and  began  to 
cheer  the  instant  a  red  cockade  appeared  at  the  other 
en<l  of  the  long  street. 

It  was  a  different  scene  now  than  in  the  first  en- 
thusiastic, hopeful  days.     Young  men  and  ardent  boys 


382  WORK. 

filled  the  ranks  then,  brave  by  instinct,  burning  with 
loyal  zeal,  and  blissfully  ignorant  of  all  that  lay  befoi;^ 
them. 

Now  the  blue  coats  were  worn  by  mature  men, 
some  gray,  all  grave  and  resolute  ;  husbands  and  fathers 
with  the  memory  of  wives  and  children  tugging  at 
their  heart-strings ;  homes  left  desolate  behind  them, 
and  before  them  the  grim  certainty  of  danger,  hard- 
ship, and  perhaps  a  captivity  worse  than  death.  Little 
of  the  glamour  of  romance  about  the  war  now :  they 
saw  what  it  was,  a  long,  hard  task ;  and  here  were 
the  men  to  do  it  well. 

Even  the  lookers-on  were  different.  Once  all  was 
wild  enthusiasm  and  glad  uproar ;  now  men's  lips  were 
set,  and  women's  smileless  even  as  tliey  cheered ; 
fewer  handkerchiefs  whitened  the  air,  for  wet  eyes 
needed  them  ;  and  sudden  lulls,  almost  solemn  in  their 
stillness,  followed  the  acclamations  of  the  crowd.  All 
watched  with  quickened  breath  and  proud  souls  that 
living  wave,  blue  below,  and  bright  with  a  steely 
glitter  above,  as  it  flowed  down  the  street  and  away 
to  join  the  sea  of  dauntless  hearts  that  for  months 
had  rolled  up  against  the  South,  and  ebbed  back  red- 
dened with  the  blood  of  men  like  these. 

As  the  inspiring  music,  the  grand  tramp  drew  near, 
Christie  felt  the  old  thrill  and  longed  to  fall  in  and 
follow  the  flag  anywhere.  Then  she  saw  David,  and 
the  regiment  became  one  man  to  her.  He  was  pale, 
but  his  eyes  shone,  and  his  whole  face  expressed  that 
two  of  the  best  and  bravest  emotions  of  a  man,  love 
and  loyalty,  were  at  their  height  as  he  gave  his  new- 
made  wife  a  long,  lingering  look  that  seemed  to  say : 


MUSTERED  IN.  383 

"  I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much, 
Loved  I  not  honor  more." 

Christie  smiled  and  waved  her  hand  to  him,  showed 
him  his  wedding  roses  still  on  her  breast,  and  bore 
up  as  gallantly  as  he,  resolved  that  his  last  impression 
of  her  should  be  a  cheerful  one.  But  when  it  was 
all  over,  and  nothing  remained  but  the  trampled  street, 
the  hurrying  crowd,  the  bleak  November  sky,  when 
Mrs.  Wilkins  sat  sobbing  on  the  steps  like  Niobe  with 
her  children  scattered  about  her,  then  Christie's  heart 
gave  way,  and  she  hid  her  face  on  Mr.  Power's  shoulder 
for  a  moment,  all  her  ardor  quenched  in  tears  as  she 
cried  within  herself: 

"  Ko,  I  could  not  bear  it  if  I  was  not  going  too  ! " 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


THE    COLOXEL. 


TEN  years  earlier  Christie  made  her  debut  as  an 
Amazon,  now  she  had  a  braver  part  to  play  on  a 
larger  stage,  with  a  nation  for  audience,  martial  music 
and  the  boom  of  cannon  for  orchestra;  the  glare  of 
battle-fields  was  the  "  red  light ; "  danger,  disease,  and 
death,  the  foes  she  was  to  contend  against ;  and  the 
troupe  she  joined,  not  timid  girls,  but  high-hearted 
women,  who  fought  gallantly  till  the  "demon"  lay 
dead,  and  sang  their  song  of  exultation  with  bleeding 
hearts,  for  this  great  spectacle  was  a  dire  tragedy  to 
them. 

Christie  followed  David  in  a  week,  and  soon  proved 
herself  so  capable  that  Mrs.  Amory  rapidly  promoted 
her  from  one  important  post  to  another,  and  bestowed 
upon  her  the  only  honors  left  the  women,  hard  work, 
responsibility,  and  the  gratitude  of  many  men. 

"  You  are  a  treasure,  my  dear,  for  you  can  turn  your 
hand  to  any  thing  and  do  well  whatever  you  under- 
take. So  many  come  with  plenty  of  good-will,  but  not 
a  particle  of  practical  ability,  and  are  offended  because 
I  decline  their  help.  The  boys  don't  want  to  be  cried 
over,  or  have  their  brows  '  everlastingly  swabbed,'  as 
old  Watkins  calls  it:  they  want  to  be  well  fed  and 


THE   COLONEL.  385 

nursed,  and  cheered  up  with  creature  comforts.  Your 
nice  beef-tea  and  cheery  ways  are  worth  oceans  of 
tears  and  cart-loads  of  tracts." 

Mrs.  Amory  said  this,  as  Christie  stood  waiting  while 
she  wrote  an  order  for  some  extra  delicacy  for  a  very 
sick  patient.  Mrs.  Sterling,  Jr.,  certainly  did  look  like 
an  efficient  nurse,  who  thought  more  of  "  the  boys  " 
than  of  herself;  for  one  hand  bore  a  pitcher  of  gruel, 
the  other  a  bag  of  oranges,  clean  shirts  hung  over  the 
right  arm,  a  rubber  cushion  under  the  left,  and  every 
pocket  in  the  big  apron  was  full  of  bottles  and  band- 
ages, papers  and  letters. 

"I  never  discovered  w^hat  an  accomplished  woman  I 
was  till  I  came  here,"  answered  Christie,  laughing. 
"  I  'm  getting  vain  with  so  much  praise,  but  I  like  it 
immensely,  and  never  was  so  pleased  in  my  life  as  I 
was  yesterday  when  Dr.  Harvey  came  for  me  to  take 
care  of  poor  Dunbar,  because  no  one  else  could  manage 
him." 

"  It 's  your  firm  yet  pitiful  way  the  men  like  so  well. 
I  can't  describe  it  better  than  in  big  Ben's  words :  '  Mis 
Sterlin'  is  the  nuss  for  me,  marm.  She  takes  care  of 
me  as  ef  she  was  my  own  mother,  and  it 's  a  comfort 
jest  to  see  her  round.'  It 's  a  gift,  my  dear,  and  you 
may  thank  heaven  you  have  got  it,  for  it  works  wonders 
in  a  place  like  this." 

"  I  only  treat  the  poor  fellows  as  I  would  have  other 
women  treat  my  David  if  he  should  be  in  their  care. 
He  may  be  any  hour,  you  know." 

"  And  my  boys,  God  keep  them !  " 

The  pen  lay  idle,  and  the  gruel  cooled,  as  young  wife 
and  gray-haired  mother  forgot  their  duty  for  a  moment 
17  T 


386  WOBK. 

in  tender  thoughts  of  the  absent.  Only  a  moment,  for 
in  came  an  attendant  with  a  troubled  face,  and  an  im- 
portant young  surgeon  with  the  well-worn  little  case 
under  his  arm. 

"  Bartlett  's  dying,  marm  :  could  you  come  and  see  to 
him  ?  "  says  the  man  to  Mrs.  Amory. 

"  We  have  got  to  amputate  Porter's  arm  this  morn- 
ing, and  he  won't  consent  unless  you  are  with  him.  You 
will  come,  of  course  ?  "  added  the  surgeon  to  Christie, 
having  tried  and  found  her  a  woman  with  no  "  con- 
founded nerves  "  to  impair  her  usefulness. 

So  matron  and  nurse  go  back  to  their  duty,  and 
dying  Bartlett  and  suffering  Porter  are  all  the  more 
tenderly  served  for  that  wasted  minute. 

Like  David,  Christie  had  enlisted  for  the  war,  and 
in  the  two  years  that  followed,  she  saw  all  sorts  of 
service ;  for  Mrs.  Amory  had  influence,  and  her  right- 
band  woman,  after  a  few  months'  apprenticeship,  was 
ready  for  any  post.  The  gray  gown  and  comforting 
face  were  known  in  many  hospitals,  seen  on  crowded 
transports,  among  the  ambulances  at  the  front,  invalid 
cars,  relief  tents,  and  food  depots  up  and  down  the 
land,  and  many  men  went  out  of  life  like  tired  children 
holding  the  hand  that  did  its  work  so  well. 

David  meanwhile  was  doing  his  part  manfully,  not 
only  in  some  of  the  great  battles  of  those  years,  but 
among  the  hardships,  temptations,  and  sacrifices  of 
soldiers'  life.  Spite  of  his  Quaker  ancestors,  he  was  a 
good  fighter,  and,  better  still,  a  magnanimous  enemy, 
hating  slavery,  but  not  the  slave-holder,  and  often 
spared  the  master  while  he  saved  the  chattel.  He  was 
soon  promoted,  and  might  have  risen  rapidly,  but  was 


THE   COLONEL.  387 

content  to  remain  as  captain  of  his  company ;  for  his 
men  loved  him,  and  he  was  prouder  of  liis  influence 
over  them  than  of  any  decoration  he  could  win. 

His  was  the  sort  of  courage  that  keeps  a  man  faithful 
to  death,  and  though  he  made  no  brilliant  charge, 
uttered  few  protestations  of  loyalty,  and  was  never 
heard  to  "damn  the  rebs,"  his  comrades  felt  that  his 
brave  example  had  often  kept  them  steady  till  a  forlorn 
hope  turned  into  a  victory,  knew  that  all  the  wealth 
of  the  world  could  not  bribe  him  from  his  duty,  and 
learned  of  him  to  treat  with  respect  an  enemy  as  brave 
and  less  fortunate  than  themselves.  A  noble  nature 
soon  takes  its  proper  rank  and  exerts  its  purifying  influ- 
ence, and  Private  Sterling  won  confidence,  affection,  and 
respect,  long  before  promotion  came;  for,  though  he 
had  tended  his  flowers  like  a  woman  and  loved  his 
books  like  a  student,  he  now  proved  that  he  could  also 
do  his  duty  and  keep  his  honor  stainless  as  a  soldier 
and  a  gentleman. 

He  and  Christie  met  as  often  as  the  one  could  get  a 
brief  furlough,  or  the  other  be  spared  from  hospital 
duty  ;  but  when  these  meetings  did  come,  they  were 
wonderfully  beautiful  and  rich,  for  into  them  was  dis- 
tilled a  concentration  of  the  love,  happiness,  and  com- 
munion which  many  men  and  women  only  know 
through  years   of  wedded  life. 

Christie  liked  romance,  and  now  she  had  it,  with  a 
very  sombre  reality  to  give  it  an  added  charm.  Xo 
Juliet  ever  welcomed  her  Romeo  more  joyfully  than 
she  welcomed  David  when  he  paid  her  a  flying  visit 
unexpectedly;  no  Bayard  ever  had  a  more  devoted 
lady  in  his  tent  than  David,  when  his  wife  came  throurrh 


388  WORK. 

every  obstacle  to  bring  him  comforts  or  to  nurse  the 
few  wounds  he  received.  Love-letters,  written  beside 
watch-fires  and  sick-beds,  flew  to  and  fro  like  carrier- 
doves  with  wondrous  speed;  and  nowhere  in  all  the 
brave  and  busy  land  was  there  a  fonder  pair  than  this, 
althougli  their  honeymoon  was  spent  apart  in  camp  and 
hospital,  and  well  they  knew  that  there  might  never 
be  for  them  a  happy  going  home  together. 

In  her  wanderings  to  and  fro,  Christie  not  only  made 
many  new  friends,  but  met  some  old  ones ;  and  among 
these  one  whose  unexpected  appearance  much  surprised 
and  touched  her. 

She  was  "  scrabbling  "  eggs  in  a  tin  basin  on  board  a 
crowded  transport,  going  up  the  river  with  the  echoes 
of  a  battle  dying  away  behind  her,  and  before  her  the 
l^rospect  of  passing  the  next  day  on  a  wharf  serving 
out  food  to  the  wounded  in  an  easterly  storm. 

"  O  Mrs.  Sterling,  do  go  up  and  see  what 's  to  be 
done !  We  are  all  full  below,  and  more  poor  fellows 
are  lying  about  on  deck  in  a  dreadful  state.  I  '11  take 
your  place  here,  but  I  can't  stand  that  any  longer,"  said 
one  of  her  aids,  coming  in  heart-sick  and  exhausted  by 
the  ghastly  sights  and  terrible  confusion  of  the  day. 

"  I  '11  go :  keep  scrabbling  while  the  eggs  last,  then 
knock  out  the  head  of  that  barrel  and  make  gruel  till  I 
l^ass  the  word  to  stop." 

Forgetting  her  bonnet,  and  tying  the  ends  of  her 
shawl  behind  her,  Christie  caught  up  a  bottle  of  brandy 
and  a  canteen  of  water,  and  ran  on  deck.  There  a  sight 
to  daunt  most  any  woman,  met  her  eyes ;  for  all  about 
her,  so  thick  that  she  could  hardly  step  without  tread- 
ing on  ihem,  lay  the  sad  Avrecks  of  men :  some  moan- 


TEE  COLONEL.  389 

ing  for  help  ;  some  silent,  with  set,  white  faces  tuniecl  up 
to  the  gray  sky ;  all  shelterless  from  the  cohl  wind  that 
blew,  and  the  fog  rising  from  the  river.  Surgeons  and 
nurses  were  doing  their  best ;  but  the  boat  was  loaded, 
and  greater  sutFering  reigned  below. 

''  Heaven  help  us  all ! "  sighed  Christie,  and  then  she 
fell  to  work. 

Bottle  and  canteen  were  both  nearly  empty  by  the 
time  she  came  to  the  end  of  the  long  line,  where  lay 
a  silent  figure  with  a  hidden  face.  "  Poor  fellow,  is  he 
dead  ?  "  she  said,  kneeling  down  to  lift  a  corner  of  the 
blanket  lent  by  a  neighbor. 

A  fiimiliar  face  looked  up  at  her,  and  a  well  remem- 
bered voice  said  courteously,  but  feebly : 

"  Thanks,  not  yet.  Excuse  my  left  hand.  I  'm  very 
glad  to  see  you." 

"  Mr.  Fletcher,  can  it  be  you  ! "  she  cried,  looking  at 
him  with  pitiful  amazement.  Well  she  might  ask,  for 
any  thing  more  unlike  his  former  self  can  hardly  be 
imagined.  Unshaven,  haggard,  and  begrimed  with 
powder,  mud  to  the  knees,  coat  half  on,  and,  worst  of 
all,  the  right  arm  gone,  there  lay  the  "piece  of  ele- 
gance "  she  had  known,  and  answered  with  a  smile  she 
never  saw  before : 

"  All  that 's  left  of  me,  and  very  much  at  your  ser- 
vice. I  must  apologize  for  the  dirt,  but  I  've  laid  in  a 
mud-puddle  for  two  days ;  and,  though  it  was  much 
easier  than  a  board,  it  doesn't  improve  one's  appear- 
ance." 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?  Where  can  I  put  you? 
I  can't  bear  to  see  you  here ! "  said  Christie,  much 
afilicted  by  the  spectacle  before  her. 


390  WOBK. 

"  Why  not  ?  we  are  all  alike  when  it  comes  to  this 
pass.  I  shall  do  very  well  il'  I  might  trouble  you  for  a 
draught  of  water." 

She  poured  her  last  drop  into  his  parched  mouth  and 
Imrried  off  for  more.  She  was  detained  by  the  way, 
and,  when  she  returned,  fancied  he  was  asleep,  but  soon 
discovered  that  he  had  fainted  quietly  away,  utterly 
spent  with  two  days  of  hunger,  suffering,  and  exposure. 
He  was  himself  again  directly,  and  lay  contentedly 
looking  up  at  her  as  she  fed  him  with  hot  souji,  longing 
to  talk,  but  refusing  to  listen  to  a  word  till  he  was 
refreshed. 

"  That 's  very  nice,"  he  said  gratefully,  as  he  finished, 
adding  with  a  pathetic  sort  of  gayety,  as  he  gi'oped 
about  with  his  one  hand :  "  I  don't  expect  napkins,  but 
I  should  like  a  handkerchief.  They  took  my  coat  off 
when  they  did  my  anii,  and  the  gentleman  who  kindly 
lent  me  this  doesn't  seem  to  have  possessed  such  an 
article." 

Christie  wiped  his  lips  with  the  clean  towel  at  her 
side,  and  smiled  as  she  did  it,  at  the  idea  of  Mr.  Fletch- 
er's praising  burnt  soup,  and  her  feeding  him  like  a 
baby  out  of  a  tin  cup. 

"I  think  it  would  comfort  you  if  I  washed  your  face : 
can  you  bear  to  have  it  done  ?  "  she  asked. 

« If  you  can  bear  to  do  it,"  he  answered,  with  an 
apologetic  look,  evidently  troubled  at  receiving  such 
services  from  her. 

Yet  as  her  hands  moved  gently  about  his  face,  he 
shut  his  eyes,  and  there  was  a  little  quiver  of  the  lips 
now  and  then,  as  if  he  was  remembering  a  time  when 
he  had  hoped  to  have  her  near  him  in  a  tenderer  capacity 


THE   COLONEL.  391 

than  that  of  nurse.     She  guessed  the  thought,  .and  tried 
to  banisli  it  by  saying  clieerfully  as  she  finished : 

"  There,  you  look  more  Hke  yourself  after  that.  Now 
the  hands." 

"Fortunately  for  you,  there  is  but  one,"  and  he 
rather  reluctantly  sun-endered  a  very  dirty  member. 

"  Forgive  me,  I  forgot.  It  is  a  brave  hand,  and  I 
am  proud  to  wash  it !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ? "  he  asked,  surprised  at 
her  little  burst  of  enthusiasm,  for  as  she  spoke  she 
pressed  the  grimy  hand  in  both  her  own. 

"  While  1  was  recovering  you  from  your  fliint,  that 
man  over  there  informed  me  that  you  were  his  Colonel ; 
that  you  *  fit  like  a  tiger,'  and  when  your  right  arm  was 
disabled,  you  took  your  sword  in  the  left  and  cheered 
them  on  as  if  you  'were  bound  to  beat  the  whole  rebel 
army.' " 

« That 's  Drake's  story,"  and  Mr.  Fletcher  tried  to 
give  the  old  shrug,  but  gave  an  irrepressible  groan 
instead,  then  endeavored  to  cover  it,  by  saying  in  a 
careless  tone,  "  I  thought  I  might  get  a  little  excite- 
ment out  of  it,  so  I  went  soldiering  like  all  the  rest  of 
you.  I'm  not  good  for  much,  but  I  can  lead  the  way 
for  the  brave  fellows  who  do  the  work.  Ofiicers  make 
good  targets,  and  a  rebel  bullet  would  cause  no  sorrow 
in  taking  me  out  of  the  world." 

"  Don't  say  that !  I  should  grieve  sincerely ;  and 
yet  I  'm  very  glad  you  came,  for  it  will  always  be  a 
satisfaction  to  you  in  spite  of  your  great  loss." 

"  There  are  greater  losses  than  right  arms,"  muttered 
Mr.  Fletcher  gloomily,  then  checked  himself,  and  added 
with  a  ]>leasant  change  in  voice  and  face,  as  he  glanced 
at  the  wedding-ring  slie  wore  : 


392  WORK. 

"  This  is  not  exactly  the  place  for  congratulations, 
but  I  can't  help  offering  mine ;  for  rf  I  'm  not  mistaken 
your  left  hand  also  has  grown  doubly  precious  since  we 
met?" 

Christie  had  been  wondering  if  he  knew,  and  was 
much  reheved  to  find  he  took  it  so  w^ell.  Her  face  said 
more  than  her  words,  as  she  answered  briefly : 

"  Thank  you.  Yes,  we  were  married  the  day  David 
left,  and  have  both  been  in  the  ranks  ever  since." 

"Not  wounded  yet?  your  husband,  I  mean,"  he  said, 
getting  over  the  hard  words  bravely. 

"  Three  times,  but  not  badly.  I  think  a  special  angel 
stands  before  him  Avith  a  shield ; "  and  Chi-istie  smiled 
as  she  spoke. 

"I  think  a  special  angel  stands  behind  him  with 
prayers  that  avail  much,"  added  Mr.  Fletcher,  looking 
up  at  her  with  an  expression  of  reverence  that  touched 
her  heart. 

"Now  I  must  go  to  my  work,  and  you  to  sleep: 
you  need  all  the  rest  you  can  get  before  you  have 
to  knock  about  in  the  ambulances  again,"  she  said, 
marking  the  feverish  color  in  his  face,  and  knowing 
well  that  excitement  w^as  his  only  strength. 

"How  can  I  sleep  in  such  an  Liferno  as  this?" 

"  Try,  you  are  so  weak,  you  '11  soon  drop  off; "  and, 
laying  the  cool  tips  of  her  fingers  on  his  eyelids,  she 
kept  them  shut  till  he  yielded  with  a  long  sigh  of 
mingled  weariness  and  pleasure,  and  was  asleep  before 
he  knew  it. 

When  he  woke  it  was  late  at  night;  but  little  of 
night's  blessed  rest  was  known  on  board  that  boat  laden 
with  a  freight  of  suffering.    Cries  still  came  up   from 


THE   COLONEL.  393 

below,  and  moans  of  pain  still  souncled  from  the 
deck,  where  shadowy  figures  with  lanterns  went  to 
and  fro  among  the  beds  that  in  the  darkness  looked 
like  graves. 

Weak  with  pain  and  fever,  the  poor  man  gazed 
about  him  half  bewildered,  and,  conscious  only  of  one 
desire,  feebly  called  "  Christie !  " 

"  Here  I  am  ;"  and  the  dull  light  of  a  lantern  showed 
him  her  face  very  worn  and  tired,  but  full  of  friend- 
liest compassion. 

"  Wlmt  can  I  do  for  you  ?  "  she  asked,  as  he  clutched 
her  gown,  and  peered  up  at  her  with  mingled  doubt  and 
satisfaction  in  his  haggard  eyes. 

"  Just  speak  to  me ;  let  me  touch  you :  I  thought  it 
was  a  dream;  thank  God  it  isn't.  How  much  longer 
will  this  last?"  he  added,  falling  back  on  the  softest 
l^illows  she  could  find  for  him. 

"  We  shall  soon  land  now ;  I  believe  there  is  an 
officers'  hospital  in  the  town,  and  you  will  be  quite 
comfortable  there." 

"  I  want  to  go  to  your  hospital :  where  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  none ;  and,  imless  the  old  hotel  is  ready,  I 
shall  stay  on  the  wharf  with  the  boys  until  it  is." 

"Then  I  shall  stay  also.  Don't  send  me  away, 
Christie:  I  shall  not  be  a  trouble  long;  surely  David 
will  let  you  help  me  die  ?  "  and  poor  Fletcher  stretched 
his  one  hand  imploringly  to  her  in  the  first  terror  of  the 
delirium  that  was  coming  on. 

"I  will  not  leave  you:  I'll  take  care  of  you,  and  no 
one  can  forbid  it.  Drink  this,  Philip,  and  trust  to 
Christie." 

He  obeyed  like  a  child,  and  soon  fell  again  into  a 
17* 


394:  WORK. 

troubled  sleep  while  she  sat  by  him  thinking  about 
David. 

The  old  hotel  was  ready;  but  by  the  time  he  got 
there  Mr.  Fletcher  was  past  caring  where  he  went,  and 
for  a  week  was  too  ill  to  know  any  thing,  except  that 
Christie  nursed  him.  Then  he  turned  the  corner  and 
began  to  recover.  She  wanted  him  to  go  into  more 
comfortable  quarters ;  but  he  would  not  stir  as  long  as 
she  remained  ;  so  she  put  him  in  a  little  room  by  himself, 
got  a  man  to  wait  on  him,  and  gave  him  as  much  of  her 
care  and  time  as  she  could  spare  from  her  many  duties. 
He  was  not  an  agreeable  patient,  I  regret  to  say; 
he  tried  to  bear  his  woes  heroically,  but  did  not  succeed 
very  well,  not  being  used  to  any  exertion  of  that  sort; 
and,  though  in  Christie's  presence  he  did  his  best,  bis 
man  confided  to  her  that  the  Colonel  was  "  as  fractious 
as  a  teething  baby,  and  the  domineeringest  party  he 
ever  nussed." 

Some  of  Mr.  Fletcher's  attempts  were  comical,  and 
some  pathetic,  for  though  the  sacred  circle  of  her  wed- 
dinfr-i'ina:  was  an  effectual  barrier  asrainst  a  look  or 
word  of  love,  Christie  knew  that  the  old  affection  was 
not  dead,  and  it  showed  itself  in  his  desire  to  win  her 
respect  by  all  sorts  of  small  sacrifices  and  efforts  at  self- 
control.  He  would  not  use  many  of  the  comforts  sent 
him,  but  insisted  on  wearing  an  army  dressing-gown, 
and  slippers  that  cost  him  a  secret  pang  every  time  his 
eye  was  aflTronted  by  their  ugliness.  Always  after  an 
angry  scene  with  his  servant,  he  would  be  found  going 
round  among  the  m^n  bestowing  little  luxuries  and  kind 
words ;  not  condescendingly,  but  humbly,  as  if  it  was 
an  atonement  for  his  own  shortcomings,  and  a  tribute 


THE  COLONEL.  395 

due  to  tlie  brave  fellows  who  bore  their  pains  with  a 
fortitude  he  could  not  imitate. 

"  Poor  Philip,  he  tries  so  hard  I  must  pity,  not  de- 
spise him ;  for  he  was  never  taught  the  manly  virtues 
that  make  David  what  he  is,"  thought  Christie,  as  she 
went  to  him  one  day  with  an  unusually  happy  heart. 

She  found  him  sitting  with  a  newly  opened  package 
before  him,  and  a  gloomy  look  upon  his  face. 

"  See  what  rubbish  one  of  my  men  has  sent  me,  think- 
ing I  might  value  it,"  he  said,  pointing  to  a  broken 
sword-hilt  and  offering  her  a  badly  written  letter. 

She  read  it,  and  was  touched  by  its  affectionate  respect 
and  manly  sympathy ;  for  the  good  fellow  had  been  one 
of  those  who  saved  the  Colonel  when  he  fell,  and  had 
kept  the  broken  sword  as  a  trophy  of  his  bravery, 
"  thinking  it  might  be  precious  in  the  eyes  of  them  that 
loved  him." 

"  Poor  Bumy  might  have  spared  himself  the  trouble, 
for  I  've  no  one  to  give  it  to,  and  in  my  eyes  it 's  nothing 
but  a  bit  of  old  metal,"  said  Fletcher,  pushing  the  par- 
cel away  with  a  half-irritated,  half-melancholy  look. 

"Give  it  to  me  as  a  partmg  keepsake.  I  have  a  fine 
collection  of  relics  of  the  brave  men  I  have  known;  and 
this  shall  have  a  high  place  in  my  museum  when  I  go 
home,"  said  Christie,  taking  up  the  "  bit  of  old  metal " 
with  more  interest  than  she  had  ever  felt  in  the  bright- 
est blade. 

"  Parting  keepsake !  are  you  going  away  ?  "  asked 
Fletcher,  catching  at  the  words  in  anxious  haste,  yet 
looking  pleased  at  her  desire  to  keep  the  relic. 

"  Yes,  I  'm  ordered  to  report  in  Washington,  and 
start  to-morrow." 


396  WOBK. 

"  Then  I  '11  go  as  escort.  The  doctor  has  been  want- 
inor  nie  to  leave  for  a  week,  and  now  I  've  no  desire  to 
stay,"  he  said  eagerly. 

But  Christie  shook  her  head,  and  began  to  fold  up 
paper  and  string  with  nervous  industry  as  she  answered : 

"  I  am  not  going  directly  to  Washington :  I  have  a 
week's  furlough  first." 

"  And  what  is  to  become  of  me  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Fletcher, 
as  fretfully  as  a  sick  child  ;  for  he  knew  where  her  short 
holiday  would  be  passed,  and  his  temper  got  the  upper- 
hand  for  a  minute. 

"  You  should  go  home  and  be  comfortably  nursed : 
you  '11  need  care  for  some  time  ;  and  your  friends  will 
be  glad  of  a  chance  to  give  it  I  've  no  doubt." 

"  I  have  no  home,  as  you  know  ;  and  I  don't  believe 
I  've  got  a  friend  in  the  world  who  cares  whether  I 
live  or  die." 

"  This  looks  as  if  you  were  mistaken  ;  "  and  Christie 
glanced  about  the  little  room,  which  was  full  of  com- 
forts and  luxuries  accumulated  during  his  stay. 

His  face  changed  instantly,  and  he  answered  with 
the  honest  look  and  tone  never  given  to  any  one  but 
her. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  :  I  'm  an  ungrateful  brute.  But 
you  see  I  'd  just  made  up  my  mind  to  do  something 
worth  the  doing,  and  now  it  is  made  impossible  in 
a  way  that  renders  it  hard  to  bear.  You  are  very 
patient  with  me,  and  I  owe  my  life  to  your  care : 
I  never  can  thank  you  for  it ;  but  I  will  take  myself 
out  of  your  way  as  soon  as  I  can,  and  leave  you  free 
to  enjoy  your  happy  holiday.  Heaven  knows  you 
have  earned  it ! " 


THE  COLONEL.  307 

lie  said  those  last  words  so  heartily  that  all  the  bit- 
terness went  out  of  his  voice,  and  Christie  found  it 
easy  to  re})ly  with  a  cordial  smile  : 

"  I  shall  stay  and  see  you  comfortably  oflf  before  I  go 
myself.  As  for  thanks  and  reward  I  have  had  botli; 
for  you  have  done  something  worth  the  doing,  and  you 
give  me  this." 

She  took  up  the  broken  blade  as  she  spoke,  and  car- 
ried it  away,  looking  proud  of  iier  new  trophy. 

Fletcher  left  next  day,  saying,  while  he  pressed  her 
hand  as  warmly  as  if  the  vigor  of  two  had  gone  into 
his  one: 

"  You  will  let  me  come  and  see  you  by  and  by  when 
you  too  get  your  discharge :  won't  you  ?  " 

"  So  gladly  that  you  shall  never  again  say  you  have 
no  home.  But  you  must  take  care  of  yourself,  or  you 
will  get  the  long  discharge,  and  we  can't  spare  you 
yet,"  she  answered  warmly. 

"No  danger  of  that:  the  worthless  ones  are  too 
often  left  to  cumber  the  earth ;  it  is  the  precious  ones 
who  are  taken,"  he  said,  thinking  of  her  as  he  looked 
into  her  tired  face,  and  remembered  all  she  had  done 
for  him. 

Christie  shivered  involuntarily  at  those  ominous 
words,  but  only  said,  "  Good-by,  Philip,"  as  he  went 
feebly  away,  leaning  on  his  servant's  aim,  while  all  the 
men  touched  their  caps  and  wished  the  Colonel  a 
pleasant  journey. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

SUIS^ISE. 

THREE  months  later  the  war  seemed  drawing 
toward  an  end,  and  Christie  was  dreaming  happy- 
dreams  of  home  and  rest  with  David,  when,  as  slie  sat 
one  day  writing  a  letter  full  of  good  news  to  the 
wife  of  a  patient,  a  telegram  was  handed  to  her,  and 
tearing  it  open  she  read : 

"Captain  Sterling  dangerously  wounded.  Tell  his  wife  to 
come  at  once.  E.  Wilkins." 

"  No  bad  news  I  hope,  ma'am  ?  "  said  the  young  fel- 
low anxiously,  as  his  half-written  letter  fluttered  to  the 
ground,  and  Christie  sat  looking  at  that  fateful  strip  of 
paper  with  all  the  strength  and  color  stiicken  out  of 
her  face  by  the  fear  that  fell  upon  her. 

"  It  might  be  worse.  They  told  me  he  was  dying 
once,  and  when  I  got  to  him  he  met  me  at  the  door. 
I  '11  hope  for  the  best  now  as  I  did  then,  but  I  never 
felt  like  this  before,"  and  she  hid  her  face  as  if  daunted 
by  ominous  forebodings  too  strong  to  be  controlled. 

In  a  moment  she  was  up  and  doing  as  calm  and  steady 
as  if  her  heart  was  not  torn  by  an  anxiety  too  keen 


SUNRISE.  899 

for  words.  By  the  time  the  news  had  flown  through 
tlie  house,  she  was  ready ;  and,  coming  down  with  no 
higgage  but  a  basket  of  comforts  on  her  arm,  she  found 
tlie  hall  full  of  wan  and  crippled  creatures  gathered 
there  to  see  her  oft',  for  no  nurse  in  the  hospital  was 
more  beloved  than  Mrs.  SterUng.  Many  eyes  followed 
her,  —  many  lips  blessed  her,  many  hands  were  out- 
stretched for  a  sympathetic  grasp  :  and,  as  the  ambu- 
lance went  clattering  away,  many  hearts  echoed  the 
words  of  one  grateful  ghost  of  a  man,  "  The  Lord  go 
with  her  and  stand  by  her  as  she 's  stood  by  us." 

It  was  not  a  long  journey  that  lay  before  her ;  but  to 
Christie  it  seemed  interminable,  for  all  the  way  one  un- 
answerable question  haunted  her,  "  Surely  God  will  not 
be  so  cruel  as  to  take  David  now  when  he  has  done  his 
part  so  WjBll  and  the  reward  is  so  near." 

It  was  dark  when  she  anived  at  the  apiDointed  spot ; 
but  Elisha  Wilkins  was  there  to  receive  her,  and  to  her 
first  breathless  question,  "  How  is  David  ?  "  answered 
briskly : 

"  Asleep  and  doin'  well,  ma'am.  At  least  I  should 
gay  so,  and  I  peeked  at  him  the  last  thing  before  I 
started." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"  In  the  little  hospital  over  yonder.  Camp  warn't  no 
place  for  him,  and  I  fetched  him  here  as  the  nighest,  and 
the  best  thing  I  could  do  for  him." 

"  How  is  he  wounded  ?  " 

"  Sliot  in  the  shoulder,  side,  and  arm." 

"  Dangerously  you  said  ?" 

"  No,  ma'am,  that  warn't  and  ain't  my  opinion.  The 
sergeant  sent  that  telegram,  and  I  think  he  done  wrong. 


400  WORK. 

The  Captain  is  hit  pretty  bad ;  but  it  ain't  by  no  means 
desperate  accordin'  to  my  way  of  thinkin',"  replied  the 
hopeful  Wilkins,  who  seemed  mercifully  gifted  with  an 
unusual  flow  of  language. 

"  Thank  heaven  !  Kow  go  on  and  tell  me  all  about 
it  as  fast  as  you  can,"  commanded  Christie,  walking 
along  the  rough  road  so  rapidly  that  Private  Wilkins 
would  have  been  distressed  both  in  wind  and  limb  if 
discipline  and  hardship  had  not  done  much  for  him. 

"  Well,  you  see  we  've  been  skirmishin'  round  here 
for  a  week,  for  the  woods  are  full  of  rebs  waitin'  to 
suqirise  some  commissary  stores  that 's  expected  along. 
Contrabands  is  always  comin'  into  camp,  and  we  do  the. 
best  we  can  for  the  poor  devils,  and  send  'em  along 
Avhere  they  '11  be  safe.  Yesterday  four  women  and  a 
boy  come  :  about  as  desperate  a  lot  as  I  ever  see ;  for 
they  'd  been  two  days  and  a  night  in  the  big  swamp, 
wadin'  up  to  their  waists  in  mud  and  water,  with  nothin' 
to  eat,  and  babies  on  their  backs  all  the  way.  Every 
woman  had  a  child,  one  dead,  but  she  'd  fetched  it,  '  so 
it  might  be  buried  free,'  the  poor  soul  said." 

Mr.  Wilkins  stopped  an  instant  as  if  for  breath,  but 
the  thought  of  his  own  "  little  chaps "  filled  his  heart 
with  pity  for  that  bereaved  mother ;  and  he  understood 
now  why  decent  men  were  willing  to  be  shot  and 
starved  for  "  the  confounded  niggers,"  as  he  once  called 
them. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Christie,  and  he  made  haste  to  tell  the 
little  story  that  was  so  full  of  intense  interest  to  his 
Hgtener. 

"I  never  saw  the  Captain  so  worked  up  as  he  was  by 
the  sight  of  them  wretched  women.  He  fed  and  warmed 


SUNBISE.  401 

'em,  comforted  their  poor  scared  souls,  give  what  clothes 
we  could  iiiid,  buried  the  dead  baby  with  his  own 
hands,  and  nussed  the  other  little  creeters  as  if  they 
were  his  own.  It  warn't  safe  to  keep  'em  more  'n  a 
day,  so  when  night  come  the  Captain  got  'em  off  down 
the  river  as  quiet  as  he  could.  Me  and  another  man 
helped  him,  for  he  wouldn't  trust  no  one  but  himself  to 
boss  the  job.  A  boat  was  ready,  —  blest  if  I  know  how 
he  got  it,  —  and  about  midnight  we  led  them  women 
down  to  it.  The  boy  was  a  strong  lad,  and  any  of 'em 
could  help  row,  for  the  current  would  take  'em  along 
rapid.  This  way,  ma'am ;  be  we  goin'  too  fast  for  you  ?  " 

"  Xot  fist  enough.     Finish  quick." 

"  We  got  down  the  bank  all  right,  the  Captain  stand- 
ing in  the  little  path  that  led  to  the  river  to  keep  guard, 
while  Bates  held  the  boat  stiddy  and  I  put  the  women 
in.  Things  was  goin'  lovely  when  the  poor  gal  who  'd 
lost  her  baby  must  needs  jump  out  and  run  up  to  thank 
the  Captain  agin  for  all  he  'd  done  for  her.  Some  of 
them  sly  rascals  was  watchin'  the  river :  they  see  her, 
heard  Bates  call  out,  '  Come  back,  wench ;  come  back ! ' 
and  they  fired.  She  did  come  back  like  a  shot,  and  we 
give  that  boat  a  push  that  sent  it  into  the  middle  of 
the  stream.  Then  we  run  along  below  the  bank,  and 
come  out  further  down  to  draw  off  the  rebs.  Some 
followed  us  and  we  give  it  to  'era  handsome.  But 
some  warn't  deceived,  and  we  heard  'em  firin'  away  at 
the  Captain ;  so  we  got  back  to  him  as  fast  as  we  could, 
but  it  warn't  soon  enough.  —  Take  my  arm,  Mis'  Ster- 
lin'  :  it's  kinder  rough  here." 

"  And  you  found  him  ?  "  — 

"Lyin'  light  acrost  the  path  with  two  dead  men  in 


402  WOJRK. 

front  of  him ;  for  he  'd  kep  'em  off  like  a  lion  till  the 
firin'  brought  up  a  lot  of  our  fellers  and  the  rebs  ske- 
daddled. I  thought  he  was  dead,  for  by  the  starlight 
I  see  he  was  bleedin'  awful, — hold  on,  my  dear,  hold 
on  to  me,  —  he  warn 't,  thank  God,  and  looked  up  at  me 
and  sez,  sez  he,  '  Are  they  safe  ? '  '  They  be,  Captain,' 
sez  I.  'Then  it's  all  right,'  sez  he,  smilin'  in  that 
bright  way  of  his,  and  then  dropped  off  as  quiet  as  a 
lamb.  We  got  him  back  to  camp  double  quick,  and 
when  the  surgeon  see  them  three  wounds  he  shook  his 
head,  and  I  mistrusted  that  it  warn't  no  joke.  So  when 
the  Captain  come  to  I  asked  him  what  I  could  do  or 
git  for  him,  and  he  answered  in  a  whisper,  '  My  wife.' " 

For  an  instant  Christie  did  "  hold  on"  to  Mr.  Wilkins's 
arm,  for  those  two  words  seemed  to  take  all  her  strength 
away.  Then  the  thought  that  David  was  waiting  for 
her  strung  her  nerves  and  gave  her  courage  to  bear 
any  thing. 

"  Is  he  here  ? "  she  asked  of  her  guide  a  moment 
later,  as  he  stopped  before  a  large,  half-ruined  house, 
through  whose  windows  dim  hghts  and  figures  were 
seen  moving  to  and  fro. 

"  Yes,  ma'am ;  we  've  made  a  hospital  of  this  ;  the 
Captain 's  got  the  best  room  in  it,  and  now  he 's  got  the 
best  nuss  that 's  goin'  anywheres.  Won't  you  have  a  drop 
of  something  jest  as  a  stand-by  before  you  see  him  ?  " 

"  Nothing ;  take  me  to  him  at  once." 

"  Here  we  be  then.     Still  sleepin' :  that  looks  well." 

Mr.  Wilkins  softly  led  the  way  down  a  long  hall, 
opened  a  door,  and  after  one  look  fell  back  and  saluted 
as  the  Captain's  wife  j^assed  in. 

A  surgeon  was  bending  over  the  low  bed,  and  when 
a  hoarse  voice  at  his  elbow  asked : 


SUNBISE.  403 

"  How  is  he  ?  "  The  doctor  answered  without  look- 
ing up : 

"  Done  for :  this  shot  through  the  lungs  will  finish 
him  before  morning  I  'm  afraid." 

"  Then  leave  him  to  me :  I  am  his  wife,"  said  the 
voice,  clear  and  sharp  now  with  the  anguish  those  hard 
words  had  brought. 

"  Good  God,  why  did  no  one  tell  me !  My  dear  lady, 
I  thought  you  were  a  nurse ! "  cried  the  poor  surgeon 
rent  with  remorse  for  what  now  seemed  the  brutal 
frankness  of  his  answer,  as  he  saw  the  white  face  of 
the  woman  at  his  side,  with  a  look  in  her  eyes  harder 
to  see  than  the  bitterest  tears  that  ever  fell. 

"  I  am  a  nurse.  If  you  can  do  nothing,  j^lease  go  and 
leave  him  to  me  the  little  while  he  has  to  live." 

Without  a  word  the  surgeon  vanished,  and  Christie 
was  alone  with  David. 

The  instant  she  saw  him  she  felt  that  there  was  no 
hope,  for  she  had  seen  too  many  faces  wear  the  look  his 
wore  to  be  deceived  even  by  her  love.  Lying  with 
closed  eyes  already  sunken  by  keen  suffering,  hair  damp 
with  the  cold  dew  on  his  forehead,  a  scarlet  spot  on 
either  cheek,  gray  lines  about  the  mouth,  and  pale  lips 
parted  by  the  painful  breaths  that  came  in  heavy  gasps 
or  fluttered  fitfully.  This  was  what  Christie  saw,  and 
after  that  long  look  she  knew  the  truth,  and  sunk  down 
beside  the  bed,  crying  with  an  exceeding  bitter  cry : 

"  O  David,  O  my  husband,  must  I  give  you  up  so 
soon?" 

His  eyes  opened  then,  and  he  turned  his  cheek  to 
hers,  whispering  with  a  look  that  tried  to  be  a  smile, 
but  ended  in  a  sigh  of  satisfaction : 


404  WOBK. 

"  I  knew  you  'd  come  ; "  then,  as  a  tearless  sob  shook 
her  from  liead  to  foot,  he  added  steadily,  though  each 
breath  cost  a  pang,  "  Yes,  dear,  I  must  go  first,  but  it 
won't  be  hard  with  you  to  help  me  do  it  bravely." 

In  that  supremely  bitter  moment  there  returned  to 
Christie's  memory  certain  words  of  the  marriage  service 
that  had  seemed  so  beautiful  when  she  took  part  in  it : 
"  For  better  for  worse,  till  death  us  do  part."  She  had 
known  the  better,  so  short,  so  sweet !  This  was  the  worse, 
and  till  death  came  she  must  keep  faithfully  the  promise 
made  with  such  a  happy  heart.  The  tliought  brought 
with  it  unexpected  strength,  and  gave  her  courage  to 
crush  down  her  grief,  seal  up  her  tears,  and  show  a 
brave  and  tender  face  as  she  took  that  feeble  hand  in 
hers  ready  to  help  her  husband  die. 

He  saw  and  thanked  her  for  the  effort,  felt  the 
sustaining  power  of  a  true  wife's  heart,  and  seemed 
to  have  no  other  care,  since  she  was  by  him  stead- 
fast to  the  end.  He  lay  looking  at  her  with  such 
serene  and  happy  eyes  that  she  Avould  not  let  a  tear, 
a  murmur,  mar  his  peace;  and  for  a  little  while  she 
felt  as  if  she  had  gone  out  of  this  turbulent  world 
into  a  heavenly  one,  where  love  reigned  supreme. 

But  such  hours  are  as  brief  as  beautiful,  and  at 
midnight  mortal  suffering  proved  that  immortal  joy 
had  not  yet  begun. 

Christie  had  sat  by  many  death-beds,  but  never  one 
like  this;  for,  through  all  the  bitter  pangs  that  tried 
his  flesh,  David's  soul  remained  patient  and  strong, 
upheld  by  the  faith  that  conquers  pain  and  makes 
even  Death  a  friend.  In  the  quiet  time  tliat  went  be- 
fore, he  had  told  his   last  wishes,  given  his  last  mes- 


SUNRISE.  405 

sacres  of  love,  and  now  had  but  one  desire,  —  to  go  soon 
that  Christie  might  be  spared  the  trial  of  seeing  suf- 
fering she  could  neither  lighten  nor  share. 

"  Go  and  rest,  dear ;  go  and  rest,"  he  whispered  more 
than  once.  "  Let  Wilkins  come :  this  is  too  much  for 
you.  I  thought  it  would  be  easier,  but  I  am  so  strong 
life  fights  for  me  inch  by  inch." 

But  Christie  would  not  go,  and  for  her  sake  David 
made  haste  to  die. 

Hour  after  hour  the  tide  ebbed  fast,  hour  after  hour 
the  man's  patient  soul  sat  waiting  for  release,  and 
hour  after  hour  the  woman's  passionate  heart  clung 
to  the  love  that  seemed  drifting  away  leaving  her 
alone  upon  the  shore.  Once  or  twice  she  could  not 
bear  it,  and  cried  out  in  her  despair: 

"No,  it  is  not  just  that  you  should  suffer  this  for 
a  creature  whose  whole  life  is  not  worth  a  day  of 
your  brave,  useful,  precious  one !  Why  did  you  pay 
such  a  price  for  that  girl's  liberty  ? "  she  said,  as  the 
thought  of  her  own  wrecked  future  fell  upon  her  dark 
and  heavy. 

"  Because  I  owed  it ;  —  she  suffered  more  than  this 
seeing  her  baby  die  ;  —  I  thought  of  you  in  her  place, 
and  I  could  not  help  doing  it." 

The  broken  answer,  the  reproachful  look,  wrung 
Christie's  heart,  and  she  was  silent:  for,  in  all  the 
knightly  tales  she  loved  so  well,  what  Sir  Galahad  had 
rescued  a  more  wretched,  wronged,  and  helpless  woman 
than  the  poor  soul  whose  dead  baby  David  buried  ten- 
derly before  he  bought  the  mother's  freedom  with  his 
life  ? 

Only  one  regret  escaped  him  as  the  end  drew  very 


406 


WORK. 


near,  and  mortal  weakness  brought  relief  from  mortal 
pain.  The  first  red  streaks  of  dawn  slione  in  the  east, 
and  his  dim  eyes  brightened  at  the  sight; 

"Such  a  beautiful  world!"  he  whispered  with  the 
ghost  of  a  smile,  "  and  so  much  good  work  to  do  in 
it,  I  wish  I  could  stay  and  help  a  little  longer,"  he 
added,  while  the  shadow  deepened  on  his  face.  But 
soon  he  said,  trying  to  press  Christie's  hand,  still  hold- 
ing his  :  "  You  will  do  my  part,  and  do  it  better  than 
I  could.  Don't  mourn,  dear  heart,  but  work;  and  by 
and  by  you  will  be  comforted." 

"I  will  try;  but  I  think  I  shall  soon  follow  you, 
and  need  no  comfort  here,"  answered  Christie,  already 
finding   consolation    in    the    thought.     "  What    is    it. 


"  Don't  mol'rn,  dear  heart,  but  work. 


SUNBISE.  407 

David  ? "  she  asked  a  little  later,  as  she  saw  his  eyes 
turn  wistfully  toward  the  window  where  the  rosy  glow 
was  slowly  creeping  up  the  sky. 

"  I  want  to  see  the  sun  rise ;  —  that  used  to  be  our 
happy  time  ; — turn  my  face  toward  the  light,  Christie, 
and  we'll  wait  for  it  together." 

An  hour  later  when  the  first  pale  ray  crept  in  at 
the  low  window,  two  faces  lay  upon  the  pillow ;  one 
full  of  the  despairing  grief  for  which  there  seems  no 
balm ;  the  other  with  lips  and  eyes  of  solemn  peace, 
and  that  mysterious  expression,  lovelier  than  any  smile, 
which  death  leaves  as  a  tender  token  that  all  is  well 
with  the  new-born  soul. 

To  Christie  that  was  the  darkest  hour  of  the  dawn, 
but  for  David  sunrise  had  already  come. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

LITTLE    HEAET's-EASE. 

WHEN  it  was  all  over,  the  long  journey  home, 
the  quiet  funeral,  the  first  sad  excitement,  then 
came  the  bitter  moment  when  life  says  to  the  bereaved  : 
"  Take  up  your  burden  and  go  on  alone."  Christie 's. 
had  been  the  still,  tearless  grief  hardest  to  bear,  most 
impossible  to  comfort ;  and,  while  Mrs.  Sterling  bore 
her  loss  with  the  sweet  patience  of  a  pious  heart,  and 
Letty  mourned  her  brother  with  the  tender  sorrow  that 
finds  relief  in  natural  ways,  the  widow  sat  among  them 
as  tranquil,  colorless,  and  mute,  as  if  her  soul  had  fol- 
lowed David,  leaving  the  shadow  of  her  former  self 
behind. 

"  He  will  not  come  to  me,  but  I  shall  go  to  him," 
seemed  to  be  the  thought  that  sustained  her,  and  those 
who  loved  her  said  despairingly  to  one  another :  "  Her 
heart  is  broken  :   she  will  not  linger  long." 

But  one  woman  wise  in  her  own  motherliness  always 
answered  hopefully :  "  Don't  you  be  troubled  ;  Nater 
knows  what's  good  for  us,  and  works  in  her  own  way. 
Hearts  like  this  don't  break,  and  sorrer  only  makes  'em 
stronger.  You  mark  my  words :  the  blessed  baby  that 's 
a  comin'  in  the  summer  will  work  a  merrycle,  and 
you'll  see  this  poor  dear  a  happy  woman  yet." 


LITTLE  HEAErS-EASE.  409 

Few  believed  in  tlie  prophecy ;  but  Mrs.  Wilkin s 
stoutly  repeated  it  and  watched  over  Christie  like  a 
mother ;  often  trudging  up  the  lane  in  spite  of  wind  or 
weath(;r  to  bring  some  dainty  mess,  some  remarkable 
puzzle  in  red  or  yellow  calico  to  be  used  as  a  pattern 
for  the  little  garments  the  three  women  sewed  with 
such  tender  interest,  consecrated  with  such  tender 
tears  ;  or  news  of  the  war  fresh  from  Lisha  who  "  was 
goin'  to  see  it  through  ef  he  come  home  without  a  leg 
to  stand  on."  A  cheery,  hopeful,  wholesome  influence 
she  brought  with  her,  and  all  the  house  seemed  to 
brighten  as  she  sat  there  freeing  her  mind  upon  every 
subject  that  came  up,  from  the  delicate  little  shirts  Mrs. 
Sterling  knit  in  spite  of  failing  eyesight,  to  the  fall  of 
Richmond,  which,  the  prophetic  spirit  being  strong 
within  her,  Mrs.  Wilkins  foretold  with  sibylline  pre- 
cision. 

She  alone  could  win  a  faint  smile  from  Christie  with 
some  odd  saying,  some  shrewd  opinion,  and  she  alone 
brought  tears  to  the  melancholy  eyes  that  sorely  needed 
such  healing  dew ;  for  she  carried  little  Adelaide,  and 
without  a  word  put  her  into  Christie's  arms,  there  to 
cling  and  smile  and  babble  till  she  had  soothed  the 
bitter  pain  and  hunger  of  a  suffering  heart. 

She  and  Mr.  Power  held  Christie  up  through  that 
hard  time,  ministering  to  soul  and  body  with  their 
hope  and  faith  till  life  grew  possible  again,  and  from 
the  dust  of  a  great  affliction  rose  the  sustaining  power 
she  had  sought  so  long. 

As  spring  came  on,  and  victory  after  victory  pro- 
claimed that  the  war  was  drawing  to  an  end,  Christie's 
sad  resignation  w\as  broken  by  gusts  of  grief  so  stormy, 
18 


410  WORK. 

so  inconsolable,  that  those  about  her  trembled  for  her 
life.  It  was  so  hard  to  see  the  regiments  come  home 
proudly  bearing  the  torn  battle-flags,  weary,  wounded, 
but  victorious,  to  be  rapturously  welcomed,  thanked, 
and  honored  by  the  grateful  country  they  had  served 
so  well ;  to  see  all  tliis  and  think  of  David  in  his  grave 
unknown,  unrewarded,  and  forgotten  by  all  but  a  faith- 
ful few. 

"  I  used  to  dream  of  a  time  like  this,  to  hope  and 
plan  for  it,  and  cheer  myself  with -the  assurance  that, 
after  all  our  hard  work,  our  long  separation,  and  the 
dangers  we  had  faced,  David  would  get  some  honor, 
receive  some  reward,  at  least  be  kept  for  me  to  love 
and  serve  and  live  with  for  a  little  while.  But  these 
men  who  have  merely  saved  a  banner,  led  a  charge,  or 
lost  an  arm,  get  all  the  glory,  w^hile  he  gave  his  life  so 
nobly ;  yet  few  know  it,  no  one  thanked  him,  and  I  am 
left  desolate  when  so  many  useless  ones  might  have 
been  taken  in  his  place.  Oh,  it  is  not  just !  I  cannot 
forgive  God  for  robbing  him  of  all  his  honors,  and  me 
of  all  my  happiness." 

So  lamented  Christie  with  the  rebellious  protest  of  a 
strong  nature  learning  submission  through  the  stern 
discipline  of  grief.  In  vain  Mr.  Power  told  her  that 
David  had  received  a  better  reward  than  any  human 
hand  could  give  him,  in  the  gratitude  of  many  women, 
the  respect  of  many  men.  That  to  do  bravely  the 
daily  duties  of  an  upright  life  was  more  heroic  in  God's 
sight,  than  to  acliieve  in  an  enthusiastic  moment  a 
single  deed  that  won  the  world's  applause ;  and  that 
the  seeming  incompleteness  of  his  life  was  beautifully 
rounded  by  the  act  that  caused  his  death,  although  no 


LITTLE  HEART' S-EASE.  411 

eulogy  recorded  it,  no  song  embalmed  it,  and  few  knew 
it  but  those  he  saved,  those  he  loved,  and  the  Great 
Commander  who  promoted  him  to  the  higher  rank  he 
had  won. 

Christie  could  not  be  content  with  this  invisible, 
intangible  recompense  for  her  hero  :  she  wanted  to  see, 
to  know  beyond  a  doubt,  that  justice  had  been  done  ; 
and  beat  herself  against  the  barrier  that  baffles  bereaved 
humanity  till  impatient  despair  was  wearied  out,  and 
passionate  heart  gave  up  the  struggle. 

Then,  when  no  help  seemed  possible,  she  found  it 
where  she  least  expected  it,  in  hei*self  Searching  for 
religion,  she  had  found  love  :  now  seeking  to  follow  love 
she  found  religion.  The  desire  for  it  had  never  left 
her,  and,  while  serving  others,  she  was  earning  this 
reward ;  for  when  her  life  seemed  to  lie  in  ashes,  from 
their  midst,  this  slender  spire  of  flame,  purifying  while 
it  burned,  rose  trembling  toward  heaven ;  showing  her 
how  great  sacrifices  turn  to  greater  compensations ; 
giving  her  light,  warmth,  and  consolation,  and  teach- 
ing her  the  lesson  all  must  learn. 

God  was  very  patient  with  her,  sending  much  help, 
and  letting  her  climb  up  to  Him  by  all  the  tender  ways 
in  which  aspiring  souls  can  lead  unhappy  hearts. 

David's  room  had  been  her  refuge  when  those  dark 
hours  came,  and  sitting  there  one  day  trying  to  under- 
stand the  great  mystery  that  parted  her  from  David, 
she  seemed  to  receive  an  answer  to  her  many  prayers 
for  some  sign  that  death  had  not  estranged  them.  The 
house  was  very  still,  the  window  open,  and  a  soft  south 
wind  was  wandering  through  the  room  with  hints  of 
May-flowers  on  its  wings.     Suddenly  a  breath  of  music 


412  WORK. 

startled  her,  so  airy,  sweet,  and  short-lived  that  no 
human  voice  or  hand  could  have  produced  it.  Again 
and  again  it  came,  a  fitful  and  melodious  sigh,  that 
to  one  made  sui)erstitious  by  much  sorrow,  seemed  like 
a  spirit's  voice  delivering  some  message  from  another 
world. 

Christie  looked  and  listened  with  hushed  breath  and 
expectant  heart,  believing  that  some  special  answer  was 
to  be  given  her.  But  in  a  moment  she  saw  it  was  no 
supernatural  sound,  only  the  south  wind  whispering  in 
David's  flute  that  hung  beside  the  window.  Disap- 
pointment came  first,  then  warm  over  her  sore  heart 
flowed  the  tender  recollection  that  she  used  to  call  the 
old  flute  "David's  voice,"  for  into  it  he  poured  the  joy 
and  sorrow,  unrest  and  pain,  he  told  no  living  soul. 
How  often  it  had  been  her  lullaby,  before  she  learned 
to  read  its  language ;  how  gaily  it  had  piped  for  others  ; 
how  plaintively  it  had  sung  for  him,  alone  and  in  the 
night ;  and  now  how  full  of  pathetic  music  was  that 
hymn  of  consolation  fitfully  whispered  by  the  wind's 
soft  breath. 

Ah,  yes !  this  was  a  better  answer  than  any  super- 
natural voice  could  have  given  her ;  a  more  helpful  sign 
than  any  phantom  flice  or  hand ;  a  surer  confirmation  of 
her  hope  than  subtle  argument  or  sacred  promise  :  for 
it  brought  back  the  memory  of  the  living,  loving  man 
so  vividly,  so  tenderly,  that  Christie  felt  as  if  the  barrier 
was  down,  and  welcomed  a  new  sense  of  David's  near- 
ness with,  the  softest  tears  that  had  flowed  since  she 
closed  the  serene  eyes  whose  last  look  had  been  for 
her. 

After  that  hour  she  spent  the  long  spring  days  lying 


LITTLE  HEART'S-EASE.  413 

on  the  old  couch  in  his  room,  reading  his  books,  think- 
ing of  his  love  and  life,  and  listening  to  "  David's  voice." 
She  always  heard  it  now,  whether  the  wind  touched 
the  Hute  with  airy  fingers  or  it  hung  mute  ;  and  it  sung 
to  her  songs  of  patience,  hope,  and  cheer,  till  a  myste- 
rious peace  came  to  her,  and  she  discovered  in  herself 
the  strength  she  had  asked,  yet  never  thought  to  find. 
Under  the  snow,  herbs  of  grace  had  been  growins; 
silently ;  and,  when  the  heavy  rains  had  melted  all  the 
frost  away,  they  sprung  up  to  blossom  beautifully  in  the 
sun  that  shines  for  every  spire  of  grass,  and  makes  it 
pei-fect  in  its  time  and  place. 

Mrs.  Wilkins  w^as  right ;  for  one  June  morning,  when 
she  laid  "  that  blessed  baby "  in  its  mother's  arras, 
Christie's  first  words  were : 

"  Don't  let  me  die :  I  must  live  for  baby  now,"  and 
gathered  David's  little  daughter  to  her  breast,  as  if  the 
soft  touch  of  the  fumbling  hands  had  healed  every 
wound  and  brightened  all  the  w^orld. 

"  I  told  you  so  ;  God  bless  'em  both  !  "  and  Mrs.  Wil- 
kins  retired  precipitately  to  the  hall,  where  she  sat  down 
upon  the  stairs  and  cried  most  comfortable  tears;  for 
her  maternal  heart  was  full  of  a  thanksgiving  too  deep 
for  words. 

A  sweet,  secluded  time  to  Christie,  as  she  brooded 
over  her  little  treasure  and  forgot  there  was  a  world 
outside.  A  fond  and  jealous  mother,  but  a  very  happy 
one,  for  after  the  bitterest  came  the  tenderest  experi- 
ence of  her  life.  She  felt  its  sacredness,  its  beauty,  and 
its  high  responsibilities ;  accepted  them  prayerfully, 
and  found  unspeakable  delight  in  fitting  herself  to  bear 
them  worthily,  always  reraembeiing   that   she  had  a 


414  WORK, 

double   duty  to  perform  toward  the   fatherless   little 
creature  given  to  her  care. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  mention  the  changes  one 
small  individual  made  in  that  feminine  household.  The 
purring  and  clucking  that  went  on ;  the  panics  over  a 
pin-prick ;  the  consultations  over  a  pellet  of-  chamo- 
mile ;  the  raptures  at  the  dawn  of  a  first  smile ;  the 
solemn  prophecies  of  future  beauty,  wit,  and  wisdom  in 
the  bud  of  a  woman;  the  general  adoration  of  the 
entire  family  at  the  wicker  shrine  wherein  lay  the  idol, 
a  mass  of  flannel  and  cambric  with  a  bald  head  at  one 
end,  and  a  pair  of  microscopic  blue  socks  at  the  other. 
Mysterious  little  porringers  sat  unreproved  upon  the 
parlor  fire,  small  garments  aired  at  every  window, 
lights  burned  at  unholy  hours,  and  three  agitated  night- 
caps congregated  at  the  faintest  chirp  of  the  restless 
bird  in  the  maternal  nest. 

Of  course  Grandma  grew  young  again,  and  produced 
nursery  reminiscences  on  every  occasion ;  Aunt  Letty 
trotted  day  and  night  to  gratify  the  imaginary  wants 
of  the  idol,  and  Christie  was  so  entirely  absorbed  that 
the  whole  South  might  have  been  swallowed  up  by  an 
earthquake  without  causing  her  as  much  consternation 
as  the  appearance  of  a  slight  rash  upon  the  baby. 

No  flower  in  David's  garden  throve  like  his  little  June 
rose,  for  no  wind  was  allowed  to  visit  her  too  roughly ; 
and  when  rain  fell  without,  she  took  her  daily  airing  in 
the  green-house,  where  from  her  mother's  arms  she  soon 
regarded  the  gay  sight  with  such  sprightly  satisfaction 
that  she  seemed  a  little  flower  herself  dancing  on  its 
stem. 

She   was   named   Ruth   for   grandma,   but   Christie 


LITTLE  HEARTS-EASE.  415 

always  called  her  "  Little  Heart' s-ease,"  or  "Pansy,"  and 
those  who  smiled  at  first  at  the  mother's  fancy,  came  in 
time  to  see  that  there  was  an  unusual  fitness  in  the 
name.  All  the  bitterness  seemed  taken  out  of  Chris- 
tie's sorrow  by  the  soft  magic  of  the  child  :  there  was 
so  much  to  live  for  now  she  spoke  no  more  of  dying ; 
and,  holding  that  little  hand  in  hers,  it  grew  easier  to 
go  on  along  the  way  that  led  to  David. 

A  prouder  mother  never  lived  ;  and,  as  baby  waxed 
in  beauty  and  in  strength,  Christie  longed  for  all  the 
world  to  see  her.  A  sweet,  peculiar,  little  face  she  had, 
sunny  and  fair;  but,  under  the  broad  forehead  where 
the  bright  hair  fell  as  David's  used  to  do,  there  shone 
a  pair  of  dark  and  solemn  eyes,  so  large,  so  deep,  and 
often  so  unchildlike,  that  her  mother  wondered  where 
she  got  them.  Even  when  she  smiled  the  shadow  hng- 
ered  in  these  eyes,  and  when  she  wept  they  filled  and 
overflowed  with  great,  quiet  tears  like  flowers  too  full 
of  dew.     Christie  often  said  remorsefully : 

"  My  little  Pansy !  I  put  my  own  sorrow  into  your 
baby  soul,  and  now  it  looks  back  at  me  with  this 
strange  wistfulness,  and  these  great  drops  are  the  un- 
submissive tears  I  locked  up  in  my  heart  because  I 
would  not  be  grateful  for  the  good  gift  God  gave  me, 
even  while  he  took  that  other  one  away.  O  Baby, 
forgive  your  mother;  and  don't  let  her  find  that  she 
has  given  you  clouds  instead  of  sunshine." 

This  fear  helped  Christie  to  keep  her  own  face  cheer- 
ful, her  own  heart  tranquil,  her  own  life  as  sunny, 
healthful,  and  hopeful  as  she  wished  her  child's  to  be. 
For  this  reason  she  took  garden  and  green-house  into 
her  own  hands  when  Bennet  gave  them  up,  and,  with  a 


416  WOBK. 

stout  lad  to  help  her,  did  well  this  part  of  the  work 
that  David  beqiieatlied  to  her.  It  was  a  pretty  sight 
to  see  the  mother  with  her  year-old  daughter  out 
among  the  fresh,  green  things :  the  little  golden  head 
bobbing  here  and  there  like  a  stray  sunbeam ;  the  baby 
voice  telling  sweet,  unintelligible  stones  to  bird  and 
bee  and  buttei-fly ;  or  the  small  creature  fast  asleep  in 
a  basket  under  a  rose-bush,  swinging  in  a  hammock 
from  a  tree,  or  in  Bran's  keeping,  rosy,  vigorous,  and 
sweet  with  sun  and  air,  and  the  wholesome  influence 
of  a  wise  and  tender  love. 

While  Christie  worked  she  planned  her  daughter's 
future,  as  mothers  will,  and  had  but  one  care  concern- 
ing it.  She  did  not  fear  poverty,  but  the  thought  of 
being  straitened  for  the  means  of  educating  little 
Ruth  afflicted  her.  She  meant  to  teach  her  to  labor 
heartily  and  see  no  degradation  in  it,  but  she  could  not 
bear  to  feel  that  her  child  should  be  denied  the  harm- 
less pleasures  that  make  youth  sweet,  the  opportunities 
that  educate,  the  society  that  ripens  character  and 
gives  a  rank  which  money  cannot  buy.  A  little  sum  to 
put  away  for  Baby,  safe  from  all  risk,  ready  to  draw 
from  as  each  need  came,  and  sacredly  devoted  to  this 
end,  was  now  Christie's  sole  ambition. 

With  this  purpose  at  her  heart,  she  watched  her 
fruit  and  nursed  her  flowers ;  found  no  task  too  hard, 
no  sun  too  hot,  no  weed  too  unconquerable ;  and  soon 
the  garden  David  planted  when  his  life  seemed  barren, 
yielded  lovely  harvests  to  swell  his  little  daughter's 
portion. 

One  day  Christie  received  a  letter  from  Uncle  Enos 
expressing  a  wish  to  see  her  if  she  cared  to  come  so 


LITTLE  HEART' S-EASE.  417 

f-ir  and  «  stop  a  spell."  It  both  surprised  and  pleased 
her,  and  she  resolved  to  go,  glad  that  the  old  man 
remembered  her,  and  proud  to  show  hhn  the  great  suc- 
cess of  her  life,  as  she  considered  Baby. 

So  she  went,  was  hospitably  received  by  the  ancient 
cousin  five  times  removed  who  kept  house,  and  greeted 
with  as  much  cordiality  as  Uncle  Enos  ever  showed  to 
any  one.  He  looked  askance  at  Baby,  as  if  he  had 
not  bargained  for  the  honor  of  her  presence ;  but  he 
said  nothing,  and  Christie  wisely  refrained  from  men- 
tioning that  Ruth  was  the  most  remarkable  child  ever 
born. 

She  soon  felt  at  home,  and  went  about  the  old  house 
visiting  familiar  nooks  with  the  bitter,  sweet  satisfaction 
of  such  returns.  It  was  sad  to  miss  Aunt  Betsey  in  the 
big  kitchen,  strange  to  see  Uncle  Enos  sit  all  day  in  his 
arm-chair  too  helpless  now  to  plod  about  the  farm  and 
carry  terror  to  the  souls  of  those  who  served  him.  He 
was  still  a  crabbed,  gruff,  old  man ;  but  the  narrow, 
hard,  old  heart  was  a  little  softer  than  it  used  to  be ;  and 
he  sometimes  betrayed  the  longing  for  his  kindred  that 
the  aged  often  feel  when  infirmity  makes  them  desire 
tenderer  props  than  any  they  can  hire. 

Christie  saw  this  wish,  and  tried  to  gratify  it  with  a 
dutiful  affection  which  could  not  fail  to  win  its  way. 
Baby  unconsciously  lent  a  hand,  for  Uncle  Enos  could 
not  long  withstand  the  sweet  enticements  of  this  little 
kinswoman.  He  did  not  own  the  conquest  in  words, 
but  was  seen  to  cuddle  his  small  captivator  in  private ; 
allowed  all  sorts  of  liberties  with  his  spectacles,  his 
pockets,  and  bald  pate;  and  never  seemed  more  com- 
fortable than  when  she  confiscated  his  newspaper,  and 

18*  AA 


418  WORK, 

sitting  on  his  knee  read  it  to  him  in  a  pretty  language 
of  her  own. 

"  She 's  a  good  little  gal ;  looks  consid'able  like  you  • 
but  you  warn't  never  such  a  quiet  puss  as  she  is,"  he 
said  one  day,  as  the  child  was  toddling  about  the  room 
with  an  old  doll  of  her  mother's  lately  disinterred  from 
its  tomb  in  the  garret. 

"  She  is  like  her  father  in  that.  But  I  get  quieter  as 
I  grow  old,  uncle,"  answered  Christie,  who  sat  sewing 
near  him. 

"  You  be  growing  old,  that 's  a  fact ;  but  somehow 
it's  kind  of  becomin'.  I  never  thought  you  'd  be  so 
much  of  a  lady,  and  look  so  well  after  all  you  've  ben 
through,"  added  Uncle  Enos,  vainly  trying  to  discover 
what  made  Christie's  manners  so  agreeable  in  spite  of 
her  plain  dress,  and  her  face  so  pleasant  in  spite  of  the 
gray  hair  at  her  temples  and  the  lines  about  her 
mouth. 

It  grew  still  pleasanter  to  see  as  she  smiled  and 
looked  up  at  him  with  the  soft  yet  bright  expression 
that  always  made  him  think  of  her  mother. 

"  I  'm  glad  you  don't  consider  me  an  entire  failure, 
uncle.  You  know  you  predicted  it.  But  though  I 
have  gone  through  a  good  deal,  I  don't  regret  my 
attempt,  and  when  I  look  at  Pansy  I  feel  as  if  I  'd  made 
a  grand  success." 

"  You  haven't  made  much  money,  I  guess.  If  you 
don't  mind  tellin',  what  have  you  got  to  live  on  ? ' 
asked  the  old  man,  unwilling  to  acknowledge  any  life 
a  success,  if  dollars  and  cents  were  left  out  of  it. 

"  Only  David's  pension  and  what  I  can  make  by  my 
garden." 


LITTLE  HEART'S-EASE. 


419 


"The  old  lady  has  to  have  some  on't,  don't  she  ?" 
"  She  has  a  httle  money  of  her  own ;  but  I  see  that 

she  and  Letty  have  two-thirds  of  all  I  make." 

"  That  ain't  a  fair  bargain  if  you  do  all  the  work." 
"  Ah,  but  we  don't  make  bargains,  sir :  we  work  for 

one  another  and  share  every  thing  together." 

"  So  like  women  ! "  grumbled  Uncle  Enos,  longing  to 

see  that  "  the  property  was  fixed  up  square." 


'She's  a  good  little  gal;  looks  conoid' able  likk  vou.  ' 


420  WOBK. 

"  How  are  you  goin'  to  eddicate  the  little  gal  ?  I 
s'pose  you  think  as  much  of  culter  and  so  on  as  ever 
you  did,"  he  presently  added  with  a  gruif  laugli. 

"More,"  answered  Christie,  smiling  too,  as  she  remem- 
bered the  old  quarrels.  "  I  shall  earn  the  money,  sir. 
If  the  garden  fiils  I  can  teach,  nurse,  sew,  write,  cook 
even,  for  I  've  half  a  dozen  useful  accomplishments  at 
my  fingers'  ends,  thanks  to  the  education  you  and  dear 
Aunt  Betsey  gave  me,  and  I  may  have  to  use  them  all 
for  Pansy's  sake." 

Pleased  by  the  compliment,  yet  a  little  conscience- 
stricken  at  the  small  share  he  deserved  of  it.  Uncle  Enos 
sat  rubbing  up  his  glasses  a  minute,  before  he  led  to  the 
subject  he  had  in  his  mind. 

"  Ef  you  fall  sick  or  die,  what  then  ?" 

"I've  thought  of  that,"  and  Christie  cauglit  up  the 
child  as  if  her  love  could  keep  even  death  at  bay.  But 
Pansy  soon  struggled  down  again,  for  the  dirty-faced 
doll  was  taking  a  walk  and  could  not  be  detained.  "  If 
I  am  taken  from  her,  then  my  little  girl  must  do  as  her 
mother  did.  God  has  orphans  in  His  special  care,  and 
He  won't  forget  her  I  am  sure." 

Uncle  Enos  had  a  coughing  spell  just  then;  and,  when 
he  got  over  it,  he  said  with  an  effort,  for  even  to  talk 
of  giving  away  his  substance  cost  him  a  pang : 

"  I  'm  gettin'  into  years  now,  and  it 's  about  time  I 
fixed  up  matters  in  case  I  'm  took  suddin'.  I  always 
meant  to  give  you  a  little  suthing,  but  as  you  didn't 
ask  for't,  I  took  good  care  on 't,  and  it  ain't  none  the 
Avorse  for  waitin'  a  spell.  I  jest  speak  on 't,  so  you 
needn't  be  anxious  about  the  little  gal.  It  ain't  much, 
but  it  will  make  things  easy  I  reckon." 


LITTLE  HEART'S-EASE.  421 

"  You  are  very  kind,  uncle ;  and  I  am  more  grateful 
than  I  can  tell.  I  don't  want  a  penny  for  myself,  but  I 
should  love  to  know  that  my  daughter  was  to  have  an 
easier  life  than  mine." 

"  I  s'pose  you  thought  of  that  when  you  come  so 
quick  ?  "  said  the  old  man,  with  a  suspicious  look,  that 
made  Christie's  eyes  kindle  as  they  used  to  years  ago, 
but  she  answered  honestly : 

"  I  did  think  of  it  and  hope  it,  yet  I  should  have 
come  quicker  if  you  had  been  in  the  poor-house." 

Neither  spoke  for  a  minute ;  for,  in  spite  of  generosity 
and  gratitude,  the  two  natures  struck  fire  when  they 
met  as  inevitably  as  flint  and  steel. 

"  What 's  your  opinion  of  missionaries,"  asked  Uncle 
Enos,  after  a  spell  of  meditation. 

"  If  I  had  any  money  to  leave  them,  I  should  be- 
queath it  to  those  who  help  the  heathen  here  at  home, 
and  should  let  the  innocent  Feejee  Islanders  worship 
their  idols  a  little  longer  in  benighted  peace,"  answered 
Christie,  in  her  usual  decided  way. 

"That's  my  idee  exactly  ;  but  it 's  uncommon  hard  to 
settle  ^cAicA  of  them  that  stays  at  home  you'll  trust 
your  money  to.  You  see  Betsey  was  always  pesterin' 
me  to  give  to  charity  things ;  but  I  told  her  it  was  bet- 
ter to  save  up  and  give  it  in  a  handsome  lump  that 
looked  well,  and  was  a  credit  to  you.  When  she  was 
dyin'  she  reminded  me  on't,  and  I  promised  I'd  do 
suthing  before  I  follered.  I  've  been  turnin'  on 't  over 
in  my  mind  for  a  number  of  months,  and  I  don't 
seem  to  find  any  thing  that's  jest  right.  You've  ben 
round  among  the  charity  folks  lately  accordin'  to  your 
tell,  now  what  would  you  do  if  you  had  a  tidy  little 
sum  to  dispose  on  ?  " 


422  WORK. 

"  Help  the  Freed  people." 

The  answer  came  so  quick  that  it  nearly  took  the  old 
gentleman's  breath  away,  and  he  looked  at  his  niece 
with  his  mouth  open  after  an  involuntary,  "  Sho ! " 
had  escaped  him. 

"  David  helped  give  them  their  liberty,  and  I  would 
so  gladly  help  them  to  enjoy  it !  "  cried  Christie,  all  the 
old  enthusiasm  blazing  up,  but  with  a  clearer,  steadier 
flame  than  in  the  days  when  she  dreamed  splendid 
dreams  by  the  kitchen  fire. 

"  Well,  no,  that  wouldn't  meet  my  views.  What 
else  is  there  ?  "  asked  the  old  man  quite  un warmed  by 
her  benevolent  ardor. 

"  Wounded  soldiers,  destitute  children,  ill-paid 
women,  young  people  struggling  for  independence, 
homes,  hospitals,  schools,  churches,  and  God's  charity 
all  over  the  world." 

"  That 's  the  pesky  part  on  't :  there 's  such  a  lot 
to  choose  from;  I  don't  know  much  about  any  of  'em," 
began  Uncle  Enos,  looking  like  a  perplexed  raven  with 
a  treasure  which  it  cannot  decide  where  to  hide. 

"  Whose  fault  is  that,  sir  ?  " 

The  question  hit  the  old  man  full  in  the  conscience, 
and  he  winced,  remembering  how  many  of  Betsey's 
charitable  impulses  he  had  nipped  in  the  bud,  and 
now  all  the  accumulated  alms  she  would  have  been 
so  glad  to  scatter  weighed  upon  him  heavily.  He 
rubbed  his  bald  head  wdth  a  yellow  bandana,  and 
moved  uneasily  in  his  chair,  as  if  he  wanted  to  get  up 
and  finish  the  neglected  job  that  made  his  helplessness 
so  burdensome. 

"  I  '11  ponder  on 't  a  spell,  and  make  up  my  mind," 
was  all  he  said,  and  never  renewed  the  subject  again. 


LITTLE  EEART'S-EASE.  423 

But  he  had  very  little  time  to  ponder,  and  he  never 
did  make  up  his  mind ;  for  a  few  months  after  Christie's 
lono-  visit  ended,  Uncle  Enos  "  was  took  suddin', "  and 
left  all  he  had  to  her. 

Not  an  immense  fortune,  but  far  larger  than  she  ex- 
pected, and  great  was  her  anxiety  to  use  wisely  this 
unlooked-for  benefaction.  She  was  very  grateful,  but 
she  kept  nothing  for  herself,  feeling  that  David's  pen- 
sion was  enough,  and  preferring  the  small  sum  he  earned 
so  dearly  to  the  thousands  the  old  man  had  hoarded  up 
for  years.  A  good  portion  was  put  by  for  Ruth,  some- 
thing for  "  mother  and  Letty  "  that  want  might  never 
touch  them,  and  the  rest  she  kept  for  David's  work, 
believing  that,  so  spent,  the  money  would  be  'blest. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


AT   FOKTY. 


t'  1VTEARLY  twenty  years  since  I  set  out  to  seek  my 
-i-  ^  fortune.  It  has  been  a  long  search,  but  I  tliink 
I  have  found  it  at  last.  I  only  asked  to  be  a  useful, 
happy  woman,  and  my  wish  is  granted  :  for,  I  believe 
I  am  useful  ;  I  liioio  I  am  happy." 

Christie  looked  so  as  she  sat  alone  in  the  flowery  par- 
lor one  September  afternoon,  thinking  over  her  life  with 
a  grateful,  cheerful  spirit.  Forty  to-day,  and  pausing  at 
that  half-way  house  between  youth  and  age,  she  looked 
back  into  the  past  without  bitter  regi'et  or  unsubmissive 
grief,  and  forward  into  the  future  with  courageous  pa- 
tience ;  for  three  good  angels  attended  her,  and  with 
faith,  hope,  and  chanty  to  brighten  life,  no  woman  need 
lament  lost  youth  or  fear  approaching,  age.  Christie 
did  not,  and  though  her  eyes  filled  with  quiet  tears  as 
they  were  raised  to  the  faded  cap  and  sheathed  sword 
hanging  on  the  wall,  none  fell ;  and  in  a  moment  tender 
sorrow  changed  to  still  tenderer  joy  as  her  glance  wan- 
dered to  rosy  little  Ruth  placing  hospital  with  her  dol- 
lies in  the  porch.  Then  they  shone  with  genuine  satis- 
faction as  they  went  from  the  letters  and  papers  on  her 
table  to  the  garden,  where  several  young  women  were 


AT  FORTY.  425 

at  work  with  a  healthful  color  in  the  cheeks  that  had 
been  very  pale  and  thin  in  the  spring. 

"  I  think  David  is  satisfied  with  ine ;  for  I  have  given 
all  my  heart  and  strength  to  his  work,  and  it  prospers 
well,"  she  said  to  herself,  and  then  her  face  grew 
thoughtful,  as  she  recalled  a  late  event  which  seemed  to 
have  opened  a  new  field  of  labor  for  her  if  she  chose  to 
enter  it. 

A  few  evenings  before  she  had  gone  to  one  of  the 
many  meetings  of  Avorking-women,  which  had  made 
some  stir  of  late.  Not  a  first  visit,  for  she  was  much 
interested  in  the  subject  and  full  of  sympathy  for  this 
class  of  workers. 

There  were  speeches  of  course,  and  of  the  most 
unparliamentary  sort,  for  the  meeting  was  composed 
alniost  entirely  of  women,  each  eager  to  tell  her  special 
grievance  or  theory.  Any  one  who  chose  got  up  and 
spoke ;  and  whether  wisely  or  foolishly  each  proved  how 
great  was  the  ferment  now  going  on,  and  how  difiicult 
it  was  for  the  two  classes  to  meet  and  help  one  another 
in  spite  of  the  utmost  need  on  one  side  and  the  sin- 
cerest  good-will  on  the  other.  The  workers  poured  out 
their  wrongs  and  hardships  passionately  or  plaintively, 
demanding  or  imploring  justice,  sympathy,  and  help ; 
displaying  the  ignorance,  incapacity,  and  prejudice, 
which  make  their  need  all  the  more  pitiful,  their  relief 
all  the  more  imperative. 

The  ladies  did  their  part  with  kindliness,  patience, 
and  often  unconscious  condescension,  showing  in  their 
turn  how  little  they  knew  of  the  real  trials  of  the 
women  whom  they  longed  to  serve,  how  very  narrow  a 
sphere  of  usefulness  they  were  fitted  for  in  spite  of  cult- 


426  WOBK. 

ure  and  intelligence,  and  how  rich  they  were  in  gener- 
ous theories,  how  ])Oor  in  practical  methods  of  relief. 

One  accomplished  creature  with  learning  radiating 
from  every  pore,  delivered  a  <?hanniug  little  essay  on 
the  strong-minded  women  of  antiquity  ;  then,  taking 
labor  into  the  region  of  art,  painted  delightful  pictures 
of  the  time  when  all  would  work  harmoniously  together 
in  an  Ideal  Republic,  where  each  did  the  task  she  liked, 
and  was  paid  for  it  in  liberty,  equality,  and  fraternity. 

Unfortunately  she  talked  over  the  heads  of  her  audi- 
ence, and  it  w^as  like  telling  fairy  tales  to  hungry  chil- 
dren to  describe  Aspasia  discussing  Greek  politics  with 
Pericles  and  Plato  reposing  upon  ivory  couches,  or 
Hypatia  modestly  delivering  philosophical  lectures  to 
young  men  behind  a  Tyrian  purple  curtain ;  and  the 
Ideal  Republic  met  with  little  favor  from  anxious  seam- 
stresses, type-setters,  and  shop-girls,  who  said  ungrate- 
fully among  themselves,  "  That 's  all  very  pretty,  but  I 
don't  see  how  it's  going  to  better  wages  among  us 

Another  eloquent  sister  gave  them  a  political  ora- 
tion which  fired  the  revolutionary  blood  in  their  veins, 
and  made  them  eager  to  rush  to  the  State-house  e?i 
Tnasse,  and  demand  the  ballot  before  one-half  of  them 
were  quite  clear  what  it  meant,  and  the  other  half  were 
as  unfit  for  it  as  any  ignorant  Patrick  bribed  with  a 
dollar  and  a  sup  of  whiskey. 

A  third  well-wisher  quenched  their  ardor  like  a  wet 
blanket,  by  reading  reports  of  sundry  labor  reforms  in 
foreign  parts  :  most  interesting,  but  made  entirely  futile 
by  differences  of  climate,  needs,  and  customs.  She 
closed  with  a  cheerful  budget  of  statistics,  giving  the 


AT  FORTY.  427 

exact  number  of  needle-women  who  had  starved,  gone 
mad,  or  committed  suicide  during  the  past  year ;  the 
enormous  profits  wrung  by  capitaHsts  from  the  blood 
and  muscles  of  their  employes;  and  the  alarming  in- 
crease in  the  cost  of  living,  which  was  about  to  plunge 
the  nation  into  debt  and  famine,  if  not  destruction 
generally. 

When  she  sat  down  despair  was  visible  on  many 
countenances,  and  immediate  starvation  seemed  to  be 
waiting  at  the  door  to  clutch  them  as  they  went  out ; 
for  the  impressible  creatures  believed  every  word  and 
saw  no  salvation  anywhere. 

Christie  had  listened  intently  to  all  this  ;  had  admired, 
regretted,  or  condemned  as  each  spoke  ;  and  felt  i  stead- 
ily increasing  sympathy  for  all,  and  a  strong  desire  to 
bring  the  helpers  and  the  helped  into  truer  re.atious 
with  each  other. 

The  dear  ladies  were  so  earnest,  so  hopeful,  and  so 
unpractically  benevolent,  that  it  grieved  her  to  see  so 
much  breath  wasted,  so  much  good-will  astray ;  while 
the  expectant,  despondent,  or  excited  faces  of  the  work- 
women touched  her  heart ;  for  well  she  knew  how  much 
they  needed  help,  how  eager  they  were  for  light,  how 
ready  to  be  led  if  some  one  would  only  show  a  possible 
way. 

As  the  statistical  extinguisher  retired,  beaming  with 
satisfaction  at  having  added  her  mite  to  the  good  cause, 
a  sudden  and  uncontrollable  impulse  moved  Christie  to 
rise  in  her  place  and  ask  leave  to  speak.  It  was  readily 
granted,  and  a  little  stir  of  interest  greeted  her;  for  she 
was  known  to  many  as  Mr.  Power's  friend,  David  Ster- 
ling's wife,  or  an  army  nurse  who  had  done  well.  Whis- 


428  WOBK. 

pers  circulated  quickly,  and  fiices  brightened  as  they 
turned  toward  her;  for  she  had  a  helpful  look,  and  her 
first  words  pleased  them.  When  the  president  invited 
her  to  the  platform  she  paused  on  the  lowest  step,  say- 
ing with  an  expressive  look  and  gesture  : 

"  I  am  better  here,  thank  you ;  for  I  have  been  and 
mean  to  be  a  working-woman  all  my  life." 

"  Hear !  hear ! "  cried  a  stout  matron  in  a  gay  bon- 
net, and  the  rest  indorsed  the  sentiment  with  a  hearty 
round.  Then  they  were  very  still,  and  then  in  a  clear, 
steady  voice,  with  the  sympathetic  undertone  to  it  that 
is  so  magical  in  its  effect,  Christie  made  her  first  speech 
in  public  since  she  left  the  stage. 

That  early  training  stood  her  in  good  stead  now, 
giving  her  self-possession,  power  of  voice,  and  ease  of 
gesture  ;  while  the  purpose  at  her  heart  lent  her  the  sort 
of  simple  eloquence  that  touches,  persuades,  and  con- 
vinces better  than  logic,  flattery,  or  oratory. 

What  she  said  she  hardly  knew :  words  came  faster 
than  she  could  utter  them,  thoughts  pressed  upon  her, 
and  all  the  lessons  of  her  life  rose  vividly  before  her  to 
crive  weight  to  her  arguments,  value  to  her  counsel,  and 
the  force  of  truth  to  every  sentence  she  uttered.  She 
had  known  so  many  of  the  same  trials,  troubles,  and 
tera])tations  that  she  could  speak  understandingly  of 
them ;  and,  better  still,  she  had  conquered  or  outlived 
so  many  of  them,  that  she  could  not  only  pity  but  help 
others  to  do  as  she  had  done.  Having  found  in  labor 
her  best  teacher,  comforter,  and  friend,  she  could  tell 
those  who  hstened  that,  no  matter  how  hard  or  humble 
the  task  at  the  beginning,  if  faithfully  and  bravely  per- 
formed, it  would  surely  prove  a  stepping-stone  to  some- 


AT  FORTY.  429 

thing  better,  and  with  each  lionest  effort  they  were 
fitting  themselves  for  the  nobler  labor,  and  larger 
liberty  God  meant  them  to  enjoy. 

The  women  felt  that  this  speaker  was  one  of  them; 
for  the  same  lines  were  on  her  face  that  they  saw  on 
their  own,  her  hands  were  no  fine  lady's  hands,  her 
dress  plainer  than  some  of  theirs,  her  speech  simple 
enough  for  all  to  understand ;  cheerful,  comforting,  and 
full  of  practical  suggestion,  illustrations  out  of  their 
own  experience,  and  a  spirit  of  companionship  that 
uplifted  their  despondent  hearts. 

Yet  more  impressive  than  any  thing  she  said  was  the 
subtle  magnetism  of  character,  for  that  has  a  universal 
language  which  all  can  understand.  They  saw  and  felt 
that  a  genuine  woman  stood  down  there  among  them 
like  a  sister,  ready  with  head,  heart,  and  hand  to  help 
them  help  themselves  ;  not  offering  pity  as  an  alms,  but 
justice  as  a  right.  Hardship  and  sorrow,  long  effort 
and  late-won  reward  had  been  hers  they  knew ;  wife- 
hood, motherhood,  and  ^ndowhood  brought  her  very 
near  to  them ;  and  behind  her  was  the  background  of 
an  earnest  life,  against  which  this  figure  with  health  on 
the  cheeks,  hope  in  the  eyes,  courage  on  the  lips,  and 
the  ardor  of  a  wide  benevolence  warming  the  whole 
countenance  stood  out  full  of  unconscious  dignity  and 
beauty;  an  example  to  comfort,  touch,  and  inspire 
them. 

It  was  not  a  long  speech,  and  in  it  there  was  no 
learning,  no  statistics,  and  no  politics ;  yet  it  was  the 
speech  of  the  evening,  and  when  it  was  over  no  one 
else  seemed  to  have  any  thing  to  say.  As  the  meeting 
broke  up  Christie's  hand  was  shaken  by  many  rough- 


430  WOBK. 

ened  by  the  needle,  stained  with  printer's  ink,  or  hard 
with  humbler  toil ;  many  faces  smiled  gratefully  at  her, 
and  many  voices  thanked  her  heartily.  But  sweeter 
than  any  applause  were  the  words  of  one  woman  who 
grasped  her  hand,  and  whispered  with  wet  eyes : 

"  I  knew  your  blessed  husband  ;  he  was  very  good  to 
me,  and  I  've  been  thanking  the  Lord  he  had  such  a 
wife  for  Jiis  reward  !  " 

Christie  was  thinking  of  all  this  as  she  sat  alone  that 
day,  and  asking  herself  if  she  should  go  on  ;  for  the 
ladies  had  been  as  grateful  as  the  women  ;  had  begged 
her  to  come  and  speak  again,  saying  they  needed  just 
such  a  mediator  to  bridge  across  the  space  that  now 
divided  them  from  those  they  wished  to  serve.  She 
certainly  seemed  fitted  to  act  as  interpreter  between 
the  two  classes  ;  for,  from  the  gentleman  her  father  she 
had  inherited  the  fine  instincts,  gi'acious  manners,  and 
nnblemished  name  of  an  old  and  honorable  race ;  from 
the  farmer's  daughter,  her  mother,  came  the  equally 
valuable  dower  of  practical  virtues,  a  sturdy  love  of 
independence,  and  great  respect  for  the  skill  and  cour- 
age that  can  win  it. 

Such  women  were  much  needed  and  are  not  always 
easy  to  find ;  for  even  in  democratic  America  the  hand 
that  earns  its  daily  bread  must  wear  some  talent,  name, 
or  honor  as  an  ornament,  before  it  is  very  cordially 
shaken  by  those  that  wear  white  gloves. 

"  Perhaps  this  is  the  task  my  life  has  been  fitting  me 
for,"  she  said.  "  A  great  and  noble  one  which  I  should 
be  proud  to  accept  and  help  accomplish  if  I  can.  Others 
have  finished  the  emancipation  work  and  done  it  splen- 
didly, even  at  the  cost  of  all  this  blood  and  sorrow.     I 


AT  FORTY.  431 

came  too  late  to  do  any  thing  but  give  my  husband 
and  behold  the  glorious  end.  This  new  task  seems  to 
offer  me  the  chance  of  being  among  the  pioneers,  to 
do  the  hard  work,  share  the  persecution,  and  help  lay 
the  foundation  of  a  new  emancipation  whose  happy 
success  I  may  never  see.  Yet  I  had  rather  be  remem- 
bered as  those  brave  beginners  are,  though  many  of 
them  missed  the  triumph,  than  as  the  late  comers  will 
be,  who  only  beat  the  drums  and  wave  the  banners 
when  the  victory  is  won." 

Just  then  the  gate  creaked  on  its  hinges,  a  step 
sounded  in  the  porch,  and  little  Ruth  ran  in  to  say  in 
an  audible  whisper : 

"  It 's  a  lady,  mamma,  a  very  pretty  lady :  can  you 
see  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  ask  her  in." 

There  was  a  rustle  of  sweeping  silks  through  the 
naiTow  hall,  a  vision  of  a  very  lovely  woman  in  the 
door-way,  and  two  daintily  gloved  hands  were  extended 
as  an  eager  voice  asked :  "  Dearest  Christie,  don't  you 
remember  Bella  Carrol  ?  " 

Christie  did  remember,  and  had  her  in  her  arms  di- 
rectly, utterly  regardless  of  the  imminent  destruction  of 
a  marvellous  hat,  or  the  bad  effect  of  tears  on  violet 
ribbons.  Presently  they  were  sitting  close  together, 
talking  with  April  faces,  and  telling  their  stories  as 
women  must  when  they  meet  after  the  lapse  of  years. 
A  few  letters  had  passed  between  them,  but  Bella  had 
been  abroad,  and  Christie  too  busy  living  her  life  to 
have  much  time  to  write  about  it. 

"  Your  mother,  Bella  ?  how  is  she,  and  where  ?  " 

"  Still  with  Augustine,  and  he  you  know  is  melan- 


432  WORK. 

choly  mad  :  very  quiet,  very  patient,  and  very  kind 
to  every  one  but  himself.  His  penances  for  the  sins 
of  his  race  would  soon  kill  him  if  mother  was  not 
there  to  watch  over  him.  And  her  penance  is  never 
to  leave  him." 

"  Dear  child,  don't  tell  me  any  more  ;  it  is  too  sad. 
Talk  of  yourself  and  Harry.  Now  you  smile,  so  I  'm 
sure  all  is  well  with  him." 

"Yes,  thank  heaven!  Christie,  I  do  believe  fate 
means  to  spare  us  as  dear  old  Dr.  Shirley  said.  I  never 
can  be  gay  again,  but  I  keep  as  cheerful  and  busy  as 
I  can,  for  Harry's  sake,  and  lie  does  the  same  for  mine. 
We  shall  always  be  together,  and  all  in  all  to  one 
another,  for  we  can  never  marry  and  have  homes  apart 
you  know.  We  have  wandered  over  the  face  of  the 
earth  for  several  years,  and  now  we  mean  to  settle 
down  and  be  as  happy  and  as  useful  as  we  can." 

"  That 's  brave  !  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  it,  and  so  truly 
thankful  it  is  possible.  But  tell  me,  Bella,  what  Harry 
means  to  do  ?  You  spoke  in  one  of  your  first  letters 
of  his  being  hard  at  work  studying  medicine.  Is  that 
to  be  his  profession  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  don't  know  what  made  him  choose  it,  unless 
it  was  the  hope  that  he  might  spare  other  families  from 
a  curse  like  ours,  or  lighten  it  if  it  came.  After 
Helen's  death  he  was  a  changed  creature ;  no  longer  a 
wild  boy,  but  a  man.  I  told  him  what  you  said  to  me, 
and  it  gave  him  hope.  Dr.  Shu-ley  confirmed  it  as  far 
as  he  dared;  and  Hal  resolved  to  make  the  most  of  his 
one  chance  by  interesting  himself  in  some  absorbing 
study,  and  leaving  no  room  for  fear,  no  time  for  danger- 
ous recollections.     I  was  so  glad,  and  mother  so  com- 


AT  FORTY.  -^o6 

forted,  for  we  both  feared  that  sad  trouble  would 
destroy  him.  He  studied  hard,  got  on  splendidly, 
and  then  went  abroad  to  finish  off.  I  went  with  him ; 
for  poor  August  was  past  hope,  and  mamma  would 
not  let  me  help  her.  The  doctor  said  it  was  best  for 
me  to  be  away,  and  excellent  for  Hal  to  have  me  with 
him,  to  cheer  him  up,  and  keep  him  steady  with  a 
little  responsibility.  We  have  been  happy  together 
in  spite  of  our  trouble,  he  in  his  profession,  and  I  in 
him ;  now  he  is  ready,  so  we  have  come  home,  and 
now  the  hardest  part  begins  for  me." 

«  How,  Bella  ?  " 

"  He  has  his  work  and  loves  it :  I  have  nothing 
after  my  duty  to  him  is  done.  I  find  I  've  lost  my 
taste  for  the  old  pleasures  and  pursuits,  and  though 
I  have  tried  more  sober,  solid  ones,  there  still  remains 
much  time  to  hang  heavy  on  my  hands,  and  such  an 
empty  place  in  my  heart,  that  even  Harry's  love  can- 
not fill  it.  I'm  afraid  I  shall  get  melancholy, — that 
is  the  beginning  of  the  end  for  us,  you  know." 

As  Bella  spoke  the  light  died  out  of  her  eyes,  and 
they  grew  despairing  with  the  gloom  of  a  tragic  mem- 
ory. Christie  drew  the  beautiful,  pathetic  face  down 
upon  her  bosom,  longing  to  comfort,  yet  feeling  very 
powerless  to  lighten  Bella's  burden. 

Bat  Christie's  little  daughter  did  it  for  her.  Ruth 
had  been  standing  near  regarding  the  "  pretty  lady," 
with  as  much  wonder  and  admiration  as  if  she  thought 
her  a  fairy  princess,  who  might  vanish  before  she  got  a 
good  look  at  her.  Divining  with  a  child's  quick  instinct 
that  the  princess  was  in  trouble,  Ruth  llew  into  the 
porch,  caught  up  her  latest  and  dearest  treasure,  and 

19  BB 


434  wouk. 

presented  it  as  a  sure  consolation,  with  such  sweet 
good-will,  tliat  Bella  could  not  refuse,  althougli  it  was 
only  a  fuzzy  caterpillar  in  a  little  box. 

"  I  give  it  to  you  because  it  is  my  nicest  one  and  just 
ready  to  spin  up.  Do  you  like  pussy-pillars,  and  know 
how  they  do  it  ?  "  asked  Ruth,  emboldened  by  the  kiss 
she  got  in  return  for  her  oifering. 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,  darling,"  and  Bella  could  not 
help  smiling,  as  the  child  fixed  her  great  eyes  upon  her, 
and  told  her  little  story  with  such  earnestness,  that  she 
was  breathless  by  the  time  she  ended. 

"  At  first  they  are  only  grubs  you  know,  and  stay 
down  in  the  earth ;  then  they  are  like  this,  nice  and 
downy  and  humpy,  when  they  walk;  and  when  it's 
time  they  spin  up  and  go  to  sleep.  It 's  all  dark  in 
their  little  beds,  and  they  don't  know  what  may  happen 
to  'em ;  but  they  are  not  afraid  'cause  God  takes  care 
of  'em.  So  they  wait  and  don't  fret,  and  when  it 's 
right  for  'em  they  come  out  splendid  buttei-flies,  all 
beautiful  and  shining  like  your  gown.  They  are  happy 
then,  and  fly  away  to  eat  honey,  and  live  in  the  air, 
and  never  be  creeping  worms  any  more." 

"  That 's  a  pretty  lesson  for  me,"  said  Bella  softly,  "  I 
accept  and  thank  you  for  it,  little  teacher  ;  I  '11  try  to 
be  a  patient  'pussy-pillar'  though  it  is  dark,  and  1 
don't  know  w^hat  may  happen  to  me;  and  I'll  wait 
hopefully  till  it's  time  to  float  away  a  happy  butter- 
fly." 

"  Go  and  get  the  friend  some  flowers,  the  gayest 
and  sweetest  you  can  find,  Pansy,"  said  Christie,  and, 
as  the  child  ran  ofl*,  she  added  to  her  friend  : 

"  Now  we  must  think  of  something  pleasant  for  you 


AT  FORTY.  435 

to  do.  It  may  take  a  little  time,  but  I  know  we 
shall  find  your  niche  if  we  give  our  minds  to  it." 

"That's  one  reason  why  I  came.  I  heard  some 
friends  of  mine  talking  about  you  yesterday,  and  they 
seemed  to  think  you  were  equal  to  any  thing  in  the 
way  of  good  works.  Charity  is  the  usual  refuge  for 
people  like  me,  so  I  wish  to  try  it.  I  don't  mind 
doing  or  seeing  sad  or  disagreeable  things,  if  it  only 
fills  up  my  life  and  helps  me  to  forget." 

"You  will  help  more  by  giving  of  your  abundance 
to  those  who  know  how  to  dispense  it  wisely,  than  by 
trying  to  do  it  yourself,  my  dear.  I  never  advise  pretty 
creatures  like  you  to  tuck  up  their  silk  gowns  and  go 
down  into  the  sloughs  with  alms  for  the  poor,  who 
don't  like  it  any  better  than  you  do,  and  so  much  pity 
and  money  are  wasted  in  sentimental  charity." 

"Then  what  shall  I  do ? " 

"  If  you  choose  you  can  find  plenty  of  work  in  your 
own  class ;  for,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  say  it,  they  need 
help  quite  as  much  as  the  paupers,  though  in  a  very 
difi*erent  way." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  I  'm  to  be  strong-minded,  to  cry 
aloud  and  spare  not,  to  denounce  their  iniquities,  and 
demand  their  money  or  their  lives  ?  " 

"  Now,  Bella,  that's  personal ;  for  I  made  my  first 
speech  a  night  or  two  ago." 

"  I  know  you  did,  and  I  wish  I  'd  heard  it.  I  'd  make 
mine  to-night  if  I  could  do  it  half  as  well  as  I  'm  told 
you  did,"  interrupted  Bella,  clapping  her  hands  with  a 
face  full  of  approval. 

But  Christie  was  in  earnest,  and  produced  her  new 
project  with  all  speed. 


436  WORK. 

"  I  want  jou  to  try  a  little  experiment  for  mc,  and 
if  it  succeeds  you  shall  have  all  the  glory ;  I  've  been 
waiting  for  some  one  to  undertake  it,  and  I  fancy  you 
are  the  woman.  Not  every  one  could  attempt  it ;  for  it 
needs  wealth  and  position,  beauty  and  accomplishments, 
much  tact,  and  more  than  all  a  heart  that  has  not  been 
spoilt  by  the  world,  but  taught  through  sorrow  how  to 
value  and  use  life  well." 

"Christie,  what  is  it?  this  experiment  that  needs  so 
much,  and  yet  which  you  think  me  capable  of  trying  ?  " 
asked  Bella,  interested  and  flattered  by  this  opening. 

"  I  want  you  to  set  a  new  fashion :  you  know  you 
can  set  almost  any  you  choose  in  your  own  circle ;  for 
people  are  very  like  sheep,  and  will  follow  their  leader 
if  it  happens  to  be  one  they  fancy.  I  don't  ask  you  to 
be  a  De  Stael,  and  have  a  brilliant  salo7i :  I  only  want 
you  to  i^rovide  employment  and  pleasure  for  others 
like  yourself,  who  now  are  dying  of  frivolity  or  ennui J^ 

"  I  should  love  to  do  that  if  I  could.    Tell  me  how." 

"  Well,  dear,  I  want  you  to  make  Harry's  home  as 
beantiful  and  attractive  as  you  can;  to  keep  all  the 
elegance  and  refinement  of  former  times,  and  to  add  to 
it  a  new  charm  by  setting  the  fashion  of  common  sense. 
Invite  all  the  old  friends,  and  as  many  new  ones  as  you 
choose;  but  have  it  understood  that  they  are  to  come 
as  intelligent  men  and  women,  not  as  pleasure-hunting 
beaux  and  belles;  give  them  conversation  instead  of 
gossip ;  less  food  for  the  body  and  more  for  the  mind ; 
the  healthy  stimulus  of  the  nobler  pleasures  they  can 
command,  instead  of  the  harmful  excitements  of  pres- 
ent dissipation.  In  short,  sliow  them  the  sort  of  society 
we  need  more  of,  and  might  so  easily  have  if  those  who 


AT  FORTY.  437 

possess  the  means  of  culture  cared  for  the  best  sort, 
and  took  pride  in  acquiring  it.  Do  you  understand, 
Bella?" 

"  Yes,  but  it 's  a  great  undertaking,  and  you  could 
do  it  better  than  I." 

"  Bless  you,  no !  I  haven't  a  single  qualification  for 
it  but  the  will  to  have  it  done.  I  'ni  '  strong-minded,' 
a  radical,  and  a  reformer.  I  've  done  all  sorts  of  dread- 
ful things  to  get  my  living,  and  I  have  neither  youth, 
beauty,  talent,  or  position  to  back  me  up ;  so  I  should 
only  be  politely  ignored  if  I  tried  the  experiment  my- 
self. I  don't  want  you  to  break  out  and  announce 
your  purpose  with  a  flourish ;  or  try  to  reform  society 
at  large,  but  I  do  want  you  to  devote  yourself  and  your 
advantages  to  quietly  insinuating  a  better  state  of 
things  into  one  little  circle.  The  very  fact  of  your  own 
want,  your  own  weariness,  proves  how  much  such  a  re- 
form is  needed.  There  are  so  many  fine  young  women 
longing  for  something  to  fill  up  the  empty  places  that 
come  when  the  first  flush  of  youth  is  over,  and  the 
serious  side  of  life  appears ;  so  many  promising  young 
men  learnino:  to  conceal  or  condemn  the  hioh  ideals 
and  the  noble  purposes  they  started  with,  because 
they  find  no  welcome  for  them.  You  might  help  both 
by  simply  creating  a  purer  atmosphere  for  them  to 
breathe,  sunshine  to  foster  instead  of  frost  to  nip  their 
good  aspirations,  and  so,  even  if  you  planted  no  seed, 
you  might  encourage  a  timid  sprout  or  two  that  would 
one  day  be  a  lovely  flower  or  a  grand  tree  all  would 
admire  and  enjoy." 

As  Christie  ended  with  the  figure  suggested  by  her 
favorite  work,  Bella  said  after  a  thoughtful  pause  : 


438  WOBK. 

"  But  few  of  the  women  I  know  can  talk  about  any 
thing  but  servants,  dress,  and  gossip.  Here  and  there 
one  knows  something  of  music,  art,  or  literature ;  but  the 
superior  ones  are  not  favorites  with  the  larger  class  of 
gentlemen." 

"  Then  let  the  superior  women  cultivate  the  smaller 
class  of  men  who  do  admire  intelligence  as  well  as 
beauty.  There  are  plenty  of  them,  and  you  had  better 
introduce  a  few  as  samples,  though  their  coats  may  not 
be  of  the  finest  broadcloth,  nor  their  fathers  'solid 
men.'  Women  lead  in  society,  and  when  men  find 
that  they  can  not  only  dress  with  taste,  but  talk  with 
sense,  the  lords  of  creation  will  be  glad  to  drop  mere 
twaddle  and  converse  as  with  their  equals.  Bless 
my  heart!"  cried  Christie,  walking  about  the  room 
as  if  she  had  mounted  her  hobby,  and  was  off"  for 
a  canter,  "how  people  can  go  on  in  such  an  idiotic 
fashion  passes  my  understanding.  Why  keep  up  an 
endless  clatter  about  gowns  and  dinners,  your  neigh- 
bors' afl:airs,  and  your  own  aches,  when  there  is  a  world 
full  of  grand  questions  to  settle,  lovely  things  to  see, 
wise  things  to  study,  and  noble  things  to  imitate. 
Bella,  you  must  try  the  experiment,  and  be  the  queen 
of  a  better  society  than  any  you  can  reign  over  now." 

"  It  looks  inviting,  and  I  icill  try  it  with  you  to  help 
me.  I  know  Harry  would,  like  it,  and  I  '11  get  him  to 
recommend  it  to  his  patients.  If  he  is  as  successful 
here  as  elsewhere  they  will  swallow  any  dose  he  orders ; 
for  he  knows  how  to  m.anage  people  wonderfully  well. 
He  prescribed  a  silk  dress  to  a  despondent,  dowdy 
patient  once,  telling  her  the  electricity  of  silk  was 
good   for  her    nerves :    she    obeyed,   and   when   well 


AT  FORTY.  439 

dressed  felt  so  much  better  that  she  bestirred  herself 
generally  and  recovered  ;  but  to  this  day  she  sings  the 
praises  of  Dr.  Carrol's  electric  cure." 

Bella  was  laughing  gaily  as  she  spoke,  and  so  was 
Christie  as  she  replied : 

"That's  just  what  I  want  you  to  do  with  your 
patients.  Dress  up  their  minds  in  their  best ;  get  them 
out  into  the  air ;  and  cure  their  ills  by  the  magnetism 
of  more  active,  earnest  lives." 

They  talked  over  the  new  plan  with  increasing  in- 
terest ;  for  Christie  did  not  mean  that  Bella  should  be 
one  of  the  brilUant  women  who  shine  for  a  little  while, 
and  then  go  out  like  a  firework.  And  Bella  felt  as  if 
she  had  found  something  to  do  in  her  own  sphere,  a 
sort  of  chaiity  she  was  fitted  for,  and  with  it  a  pleasant 
sense  of  power  to  give  it  zest. 

When  Letty  and  her  mother  came  in,  they  found  a 
much  happier  looking  guest  than  the  one  Christie  had 
welcomed  an  hour  before.  Scarcely  had  she  introduced 
them  when  voices  in  the  lane  made  all  look  up  to  see 
old  Hepsey  and  Mrs.  Wilkins  approaching. 

"  Two  more  of  my  dear  friends,  Bella :  a  fugitive  slave 
and  a  laundress.  One  has  saved  scores  of  her  own  peo- 
ple, and  is  my  pet  heroine.  The  other  has  the  bravest, 
cheeriest  soul  I  know,  and  is  my  private  oracle." 

The  words  Vere  hardly  out  of  Christie's  mouth 
when  in  they  came ;  Hepsey's  black  face  shining  with 
affection,  and  Mrs.  Wilkins  as  usual  running  over  with 
kind  words. 

"  My  dear  creeter,  the  best  of  wishes  and  no  end  of 
happy  birthdays.  There  's  a  triflin'  keepsake ;  tuck  it 
away,  and  look   at  it  byme  by.     Mis'  Sterlin',  I'm 


440  WOBK. 

proper  glad  to  see  you  lookin'  so  well.  Aunt  Letty, 
how's  that  darlin'  child?  I  ain't  the  pleasure  of 
your  acquaintance,  Miss,  but  I  'm  pleased  to  see  you. 
The  children  all  sent  love,  likewise  Lisha,  whose  bones 
is  better  sense  I  tried  the  camfire  and  red  flannel." 

Then  they  settled  down  like  a  flock  of  birds  of  vari- 
ous plumage  and  power  of  song,  but  all  amicably  dis- 
posed, and  ready  to  j^eck  socially  at  any  topic  which 
might  turn  up. 

Mrs.  Wilkins  started  one  by  exclaiming  as  she  "  laid 
off""  her  bonnet : 

"  Sakes  alive,  there 's  a  new  picter !  Ain't  it  beau- 
tiful ?  " 

"  Colonel  Fletcher  brought  it  this  morning.  A  great 
artist  painted  it  for  him,  and  he  gave  it  to  me  in  a  way 
that  added  much  to  its  value,"  answered  Christie,  with 
both  gratitude  and  aflTection  in  her'  face ;  for  she  was  a 
woman  who  could  change  a  lover  to  a  friend,  and  keep 
him  all  her  life. 

It  was  a  quaint  and  lovely  picture  of  Mr.  Greatheart, 
leading  the  fugitives  from  the  City  of  Destruction.  A 
dark  wood  lay  behind;  a  wide  river  rolled  before; 
Mercy  and  Christiana  pressed  close  to  their  faithful 
guide,  who  went  down  the  rough  and  narrow  path  bear- 
ing a  cross-hilted  sword  in  his  right  hand,  and  holding 
a  sleeping  baby  with  the  left.  The  sun  was  just  rising, 
and  a  long  ray  made  a  bright  path  athwart  the  river, 
turned  Greatheart's  dinted  armor  to  gold,  and  shone 
into  the  brave  and  tender  face  that  seemed  to  look 
beyond  the  sunrise. 

"  There  's  just  a  hint  of  Davy  in  it  that  is  very  com- 
forting to  me,"  said  Mrs;  Sterling,  as  she  laid  her  old 


AT  FORTY,  441 

hands  softly  together,  and  looked  up  with  her  devout 
eyes  full  of  love. 

"  Dem  women  oughter  bin  black  "  murmured  Hepsey, 
tearfully ;  for  she  considered  David  worthy  of  a  place 
with  old  John  Brown  and  Colonel  Shaw. 

"The  child  looks  Uke  Pansy,  we  all  think,"  added 
Letty,  as  the  little  girl  brought  her  nosegay  for  Aunty 
to  tie  up  prettily. 

Christie  said  nothing,  because  she  felt  too  much ;  and 
Bella  was  also  silent  because  she  knew  too  little.  But 
Mrs.  Wilkins  with  her  kindly  tact  changed  the  subject 
before  it  grew  painful,  and.  asked  with  sudden  interest : 

"  When  be  you  a  goin'  to  hold  forth  agin,  Chiistie  ? 
Jest  let  me  know  beforehand,  and  I'll  wear  my  old 
gloves :  I  tore  my  best  ones  all  to  rags  clappin'  of  you  ; 
it  was  so  extra  good." 

"  I  don't  deserve  any  credit  for  the  speech,  because 
it  spoke  itself,  and  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  had  no  thought 
of  such  a  thing  till  it  came  over  me  all  at  once,  and  I 
was  up  before  I  knew  it.  I  'm  truly  glad  you  liked  it, 
but  I  shall  never  make  another,  unless  you  think  I  'd 
better.  You  know  I  always  ask  your  advice,  and  what 
is  more  remarkable  usually  take  it,"  said  Christie,  glad 
to  consult  her  oracle. 

«  Hadn't  you  better  rest  a  little  before  you  begin  any 
new  task,  my  daughter?  You  have  done  so  much 
these  last  years  you  must  be  tired,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Sterling,  with  a  look  of  tender  anxiety. 

"  You  know  I  work  for  two,  mother,"  answered  Chris- 
tie, with  the  clear,  sweet  expression  her  fiice  always 
wore  when  she  spoke  of  David.  "  I  am  not  tired  yet : 
I  hope  I  never  shall  be,  for  without  my  work  I  should 
19* 


442  WORK. 

fall  into  despair  or  e7mui.  There  is  so  much  to  be  done, 
and  it  is  so  delightful  to  help  do  it,  that  I  never  mean 
to  fold  my  hands  till  they  are  useless.  I  owe  all  I  can 
do,  for  in  labor,  and  the  efforts  and  experiences  that 
grew  out  of  it,  I  have  found  independence,  education, 
happiness,  and  religion." 

"  Then,  my  dear,  you  are  ready  to  help  other  folks 
into  the  same  blessed  state,  and  it's  your  duty  to  do 
it ! "  cried  Mrs.  Wilkins,  her  keen  eyes  full  of  sympathy 
and  commendation  as  they  rested  on  Christie's  cheerful, 
earnest  lace.  "  Ef  the  sperrit  moves  you  to  speak,  up 
and  do  it  without  no  misgivin's.  I  think  it  was  a  special 
leadin'  that  night,  and  I  hope  you'll  foller,  for  it  ain't 
every  one  that  can  make  folks  laugh  and  cry  with  a 
few  plain  words  that  go  right  to  a  body's  heart  and  stop 
there  real  comfortable  and  fillin'.  I  guess  this  is  your 
next  job,  my  dear,  and  you'd  better  ketch  hold  and 
give  it  the  right  turn ;  for  it 's  goin'  to  take  time,  and 
women  ain't  stood  alone  for  so  long  they  '11  need  a  sight 
of  boostin'." 

There  was  a  general  laugh  at  the  close  of  Mrs.  Wil- 
kins's  remarks  ;  but  Christie  answered  seriously  :  "  I  ac- 
cept the  task,  and  will  do  my  share  faithfully  with 
words  or  work,  as  shall  seem  best.  We  all  need  much 
preparation  for  the  good  time  that  is  coming  to  us,  and 
can  get  it  best  by  trying  to  know  and  help,  love  and 
educate  one  another,  —  as  we  do  here." 

"With  an  impulsive  gesture  Christie  stretched  her 
hands  to  the  friends  about  her,  and  wdth  one  accord 
they  laid  theirs  on  hers,  a  loving  league  of  sisters, 
old  and  young,  black  and  white,  rich  and  poor,  each 
ready  to  do  her  part  to  hasten  the  coming  of  the  happy 
end. 


AT  FORTY. 


443 


"  Me  too  ! "  cried  little  Ruth,  and  spread  her  chubby 
hand  above  the  rest :  a  hopeful  omen,  seemino-  to 
promise  that  the  coming  generation  of  women  will  not 
only  receive  but  deserve  their  liberty,  by  learning  that 
the  greatest  of  God's  gifts  to  us  is  the  privilege  of 
sharing  His  great  work. 


"  Each  ready  to  do  her  part  to  hasten  the  coming  of  the  happy  end." 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 


Wilmer 
32 


?^     r■?'_^♦.  :'i. 


*-       ,  s      "    ^    . 


^if 


